


Witchy Women

by Single_Starling



Series: Witchy Women - A Practical Magic/Charmed AU [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Gen, Magic, Sisterly Love, the archerons as witches, the practical magic/charmed/ACOTAR crossover no one asked for, witchy women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 07:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 109,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22232323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Single_Starling/pseuds/Single_Starling
Summary: Woo hoo, witchy woman, she got the moon in her eye…The Archeron sisters, of the Archeron witches of Salem, Massachusetts weren’t afraid of anything, that is, besides the Archeron curse. There was no breaking it. The only things that ever broke were the hearts of the Archeron witches.A modern day Practical Magic/Charmed AU, in which five years after turning their backs on their witch heritage, the estranged Archeron sisters are thrown back together after rescuing Feyre from danger. Now, as the sisters retreat to their childhood home, they must rekindle their magic and reconcile old wounds in order to face a new threat. With the threat of the handsome, suspicious sheriff and his charming brothers discovering the dangerous secrets that lurk in the sisters' past, the Archeron sisters must protect themselves, their own hearts, and fight to keep the Archeron curse at bay.***Nessian-centric, with Feysand and Elriel to spice it up.
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Series: Witchy Women - A Practical Magic/Charmed AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933054
Comments: 190
Kudos: 400
Collections: Witchy Women - A Practical Magic/Charmed AU





	1. The House on the Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Practical Magic/Charmed AU I've been thinking about writing for a year and a half. Finally decided to take a crack at it, with my own twist. Songs for this chapter: Kingdom Come by The Civil Wars, Practical Magic by Alan Silvestri from the Practical Magic soundtrack, and Bottom of the River by Delta Rae. And title, of course, inspired by The Eagles' song, Witchy Woman.

_Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come_   
_Fall back down to where you're from_   
_Don't you fret, my dear_   
_It'll all be over soon_

_-Kingdom Come, the Civil Wars_

Rain fell in sheets as the muddy car trudged its way up the winding dirt driveway. The house, standing tall at the edge, loomed against the night. When lightning flashed, it seemed to grimace, or grin. The three-story Victorian house, originally painted a brilliant white, had faded with years of neglect. Vines of ivy draped the porch, the walls, the window frames, as if the land surrounding it was trying to reestablish its hold on the world. Leaves, bright splashes of color against the dingy white paint, clogged the gutters and piled on the front porch. The moon hung low and full in the sky, glowing gently, a blessing, a promise.

The three sisters who piled out of the car all paused to look up at it, taking in the light, savoring the moon and the rain like gentle caresses on their upturned, weary faces. The eldest sister watched the house with a mixture of longing and sadness, a skeleton key clutched in her hand. The second smiled to herself to see the vines and plants growing, nostalgic and tired. And the youngest sister, perhaps the most weary of them all, shoulders slumped, wore her sadness like a thick, heavy cloak. But relief too danced in her eyes, like that of an animal finally released from its cage, embracing the promise of movement and freedom once again. 

Rain soaked their clothes, their hair, but they didn’t move. Just stood there, staring at the dark, gaping windows and sloping roof, like they’d finally found a safe harbor in the storm.

“Lets get some sleep,” the eldest said, making her way up the worn stone footpath to the front door, once painted a brilliant amethyst, now peeling and worn from the elements. “We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

“I’m not sure I can sleep,” the third said, shivering.

“We’ll ward the house tomorrow,” the second sister said, pausing to stroke a vine. “And it looks like the ivy will do for tonight.”

The youngest nodded, wrapping her arms around herself and peering into the night. “You sure we’re safe here? Not after… everything.”

“We’ll have to be,” the eldest said, ushering her sisters inside. “And we never speak of it,” she said. “Ever again.”

The door closed behind them, sealing them into the belly of the house. The windows rattled in their frames; the ivy shook; the very house seemed to tremble and then settle, as if something that had been missing for a long time had finally returned. The roof appeared to straighten itself out. The house groaned and shook, as if becoming more firmly planted in the ground. Ivy unfurled itself further across the house, the door, a promise to protect those within. The Archeron sisters had finally returned home.

The storm raged on outside, lightning flashed, the moon rose further in the sky, watching over the house for the first time in a long time. Inside, a light ignited, and the house once again spilled light out into the darkness.

Night settled in, the moon watched over the house draped in ivy, watched over the three sisters huddled inside like mice. They lay together, curled in the same dusty bed in the master bedroom, three lost stars finally back in their home constellation.

For the first night in a long time, Feyre Archeron fell asleep without being afraid of what the next morning would bring.

She’d grown used to the constant uneasiness that cast a shadow over her, when she had been trapped. Life with her boyfriend, the man she loved, was great in the beginning, until it became a nightmare.

He’d been like a dream, charming and warm and caring.

And then one day, he wasn’t.

And she hadn’t known where her boyfriend had gone, leaving a monster in his place.

Now, as Feyre drifted to sleep in her childhood bed, under a comforter that smelled like mothballs and lavender, her sisters’ bodies pressed against hers like sentries, Feyre felt some of the tension finally drain from her shoulders.

Tamlin was dead. Dead and buried, where he couldn’t reach her anymore. She was safe. She couldn’t find it in her to feel guilty, or horrified at what had happened. Only relief.  
Feyre rolled towards the window, moonlight streaming in through the curtains, and smiled into the darkness, at the stars, and fell asleep.

“Something’s coming,” Elain whispered in the dark after Feyre drifted off, staring up at the cracked ceiling. “I’ve seen it. They know about us, about what we’ve done.”  
“Then we’ll be ready,” Nesta said, listening to the wind. “We’ll have to be.”

She listened to the sounds of her sisters’ steady breathing, as they sunk further into sleep, unused to the long-forgotten feeling of having her sisters next to her. _Safe,_ she thought. But for how long? Was her last thought before she too slipped into a heavy, deep sleep.

And in the darkness, something stirred. The house kept it at bay, but as the wind blew, and the storm beat against the windows, as the leaves rustled, the house shook in its foundation. In the darkness, something loomed, a thick cloud stretched itself across the moon, a shadow washing over the house, darker than pitch, thicker than mud. Something was watching. Even so, the house watched over the three sisters sleeping, and they passed their first night together in a long time, unaware of the threat that hovered just outside their door. That would be dealt with in the morning, when daylight would be there to aid them.

The Archeron sisters didn’t fear the dark. They didn’t fear the same things as ordinary people. The Archeron sisters, of the Archeron witches of Salem, Massachusetts weren’t afraid of anything, that is, besides the Archeron curse. There was no breaking it. The only thing that ever broke were the hearts of the Archeron witches.

Nesta lay awake, listening to Elain’s breathing slow to match Feyre’s, and thought of Maria Archeron, the first Archeron witch born in Massachusetts centuries ago, the first of their line born in the New World, and the curse she laid upon her progeny, that had already snared Nesta, and now Feyre, and had brought all this misfortune to their doorstep.

Any man who was foolish enough to love an Archeron witch, would die. Man after man, year after year, the Archeron women continued to fall in love with foolish men, brave men, weak men, men they could only bear to love by halves, because each man indeed died not long after the next Archeron daughter was born.

And it would seem there was another curse upon the Archeron witches, a curse to love weak men, above all else. To love cowards, cheaters, liars, and cruel men, who trapped Archeron women and made their lives a living hell. Now Feyre was the newest victim.

“No more,” Nesta vowed. The storm raged on, and she remembered another night, years ago, with thunder and lightning and rain. The night the curse struck, and Nesta began the slow, arduous process of turning her heart to stone.

***

Sheriff Cassian Knight’s radio squealed, a sharp, alarming sound that startled him from sleep. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the clock on his desk. 3:42am glared at him in bright red, and he shook his head, papers fluttering to his desk from where they were stuck to his cheek.

“Cass, someone’s broken into the old house on the hill,” Azriel radioed in. “Was on patrol and I saw a car head up the driveway. Now there’s lights on in the house. Over.”

“Any signs of forced entry?” Cassian reached for his coffee cup, coffee gone cold hours ago. He swigged it anyway, with a grimace.

“Negative. Door looks fine, no broken windows as far as I can see.”

Thunder shook the windows of Cassian’s small office, and he stared out into the stormy night. “Then they might have had a key. Any signs of leaving?”

“No, they’ve seemed to settle for the night. The lights just turned off.”

“Could be squatters,” Cassian mused. “Squatters with a key. Or the old owners finally came back.”

“The old Archeron Crones?” The wariness in Azriel’s voice was tangible. Everyone in town, Cassian knew, still spoke of the Archeron Crones, even years after they’d withdrawn into their house over a decade ago, and then disappeared for good. “They haven’t been seen in town since… hell, I don't even know,” Azriel continued. “I thought they abandoned the place.”

“I’ll drive by later this week,” Cassian said. “Head back in. If it’s squatters, let’s let them spend the night without getting rained on. If it _is_ the Archeron Crones, well, I’d hate to wake them up so late.”

“Copy that,” Azriel said. “Heading in. Out.”

Watching the storm rage outside, Cassian wondered, who exactly was in that house, and what it was that made the Archeron Crones so notorious.

When he’d arrived a year ago with his brothers and took up his new position as sheriff, the Archeron Crones were still being whispered about even then, the house on the hill often the topic of gossip, mystery, and tall tales. Teenagers dared each other to spend the night in the abandoned house; the city debated bulldozing it to build new homes, but each time the property came up for purchase, plans mysteriously fell through. The Archeron Crones, Morrigan and Amren, respectively, were whispered about by the older women in town.

 _Husband-stealers, man-eaters,_ they said. _They’d wag a finger and the men would come running. Godless women. Worshipped the devil. Stole pets and ate them, or used them for darker purposes. Bribed the mayor, drowned their own mother, killed their sister, kidnapped her daughters and raised them as heathens._ The last one Cassian knew was untrue; Cassandra Archeron had died over twenty years ago, in New York. Even the locals knew that was undisputed. And the three daughters, so he’d heard, had remained in New York with their father, until his own passing.

 _Killed every man they got their hands on,_ now that one seemed vaguely plausible. Men tended to show up dead after tangling with an Archeron woman, and Cassian knew the circumstances were never quite as clear as they seemed. The Crones were never convicted, nor came close to being suspected, however, the pattern did strike people as odd, as odd as the women themselves.

Some townspeople claimed they’d seen Amren and Morrigan Archeron dancing naked in the field beside their house every Halloween night when they were younger; some claimed they could make it rain, could cause a drought, cause a man to lose his head in love and cause a woman to die of heartbreak. _But they were always good with children,_ they whispered. _Some of the best midwives to be had,_ begrudgingly was the towns opinion. If a woman was having a particularly difficult pregnancy, and if her doctor wasn’t properly addressing it, she could arrive at the Archeron women’s house. _They’d make you a tonic, a tea, and you drank it, you didn’t ask what was in it,_ women whispered to each other. _And you’d wake up the next day right as rain._ Even the Archeron Crones would help with the occasional birth, proving their mettle as excellent midwives to rival the hospital’s maternity staff. _You’d deliver the healthiest_ baby, _if the Archeron Crones were there to help._ Doctors and mothers were left stunned. _They never asked for anything in return, except a little kindness here or there, a favor, something small._

The Crones were, from what Cassian understood, an unsung, underappreciated, overlooked part of the community, treated with a wary respect and a healthy amount of fear. But, they were part of the community nonetheless, and under their care, it thrived, and people were content to let them be. Until one day, five years ago, they disappeared; the house left locked up, abandoned. No word of when they would return.

 _And now_ , Cassian thought to himself, shuffling papers back into their respective piles and pulling on his leather jacket, _someone’s back_.

He shivered when he exited the station, looking up at the stormy sky, ominous, threatening. _Or something new’s come_.


	2. Home Again

_Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers,_  
_Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters_  
_A man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night_  
_May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_

_-Howl, Florence + The Machine_

_Cold hands, grabbing at her skirt, her top, running down her arms, through her hair, Nesta fought against them, unable to pull away. The wall against her back was hard, and cold, and she pressed her spine against it as if she could melt into it. She opened her mouth to scream, and found she had no air for her lungs-_

Nesta gasped and sat upright, clutching at her chest, her face, before she realized where she was. “Goddess,” she breathed, slumping back against the pillows, stretching an arm across her eyes.

Dawn was just beginning to creep through the window, a warm glow behind the moth-eaten curtains. The house creaked, as if to soothe her, as if to say, _you are safe, you are here. You are awake. You are home._

Home. This place had once been home, but now… Nesta stared at the peeling wallpaper, the faded rug, the scratched hardwood floor. The dust swirling in the corners. The cracks in the ceiling she would trace with her eyes as a child, trying to find the road to sleep. All familiar, long-forgotten details she’d tucked in the back of her mind. Until now.

Nesta threw back the covers and shivered against the chill of the autumn morning, curling her toes against the cold floor.

The nightmares had started again, since retrieving Feyre and spending the past week holing up in the house they spent all their summers in as children. She brushed it off as stress. They’d faded once, they’d fade again.

Nesta paused in the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee and throw her coat on over her sweats before heading to the back porch.

The morning was a misty one; gray skies and watery light marked the coming of autumn. Nesta tilted her head back and smelled the wind, the musky scent of earth and leaves and rain another sign that the wheel of the seasons was turning, and summer had long since begun to fade. 

The house sat on four acres of forest, old family land that had been owned by the Archeron women for generations past. To the left, you could hear the gentle roar of the sea; to the right, forest stretched for miles. Nesta had played in those woods over the summers, hunting berries, mushrooms, and herbs for longer than she could remember. But the forest was Elain’s domain, and she knew it even better than Nesta did. The memories were bittersweet. They still soothed Nesta’s ragged edges and she closed her eyes to listen to the sea.

“Morning,” Elain said, slipping into the rocking chair beside her sister.

“Morning,” Nesta muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

“You didn’t sleep well,” Elain observed. “This is the fourth night in a row. Have you been dreaming?”

“Sometimes,” Nesta admitted. “I’m fine, Elain. They’re just dreams.”

“They’re bad,” Elain’s eyes took on the milky, glazed look when she was trying to See things. “You haven’t had a nightmare in years.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Nesta said. “How’s Feyre?”

“The usual. I gave her some tea last night.” Elain tilted her head at Nesta. “I’ll make you some tonight too.”

Elain’s brews were the best brews on the East coast. Tinctures, salves, tonics, for every ailment, no one made them like she did.

“Did you dream of-“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nesta said. Elain heard the warning in her tone and backed off.

“We need to ward the house again today.” She said instead.

“I know.” Nesta stood and stretched. “I’m not sure how long House can keep it up. I have a weird feeling.”

“I’ve been dreaming too,” Elain said. “I see strange things.” Her eyes looked off into the distance, as if trying to capture the unraveling threads of the dream before it faded into memory.

“Like what?” Nesta 

“I see…” she tilted her head to the side, her eyes flashing, turning milky. “A man. No, three men. A beast. The moon. Shadows, so many shadows…” she trailed off. “Something’s coming.”

Nesta shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

“And yet,” Elain took a sip of her tea. “We should find the aunts.”

“I haven’t heard from them since we left. If they wanted to be found, they’d let us know where they went,” Nesta said. “Have you tried scrying for them?”

“I will tonight.” Elain tilted her head towards the sky. “The moon should still be bright enough.”

“Morning,” Feyre murmured from behind them. Since rescuing her, Nesta was still struck by the difference in her sister’s countenance. Gone was the fierce, spirited woman she used to know. Now, Feyre faded into the background, like a watery-edged figure in a faded photograph. The past week had been awkward, dancing around each other. Feyre was silent, except when Nesta was snippy, and then she would flinch rather than fight back, which didn’t sit well with Nesta or with Elain. Neither did the bruise that shadowed one eye, still fresh. The purpleish blue stark against her too-pale face.

“Morning,” Elain murmured, standing to usher Feyre into the rocking chair. “Do you want some tea?”

Nesta didn’t move, unsure how to approach this new, empty Feyre, more skittish animal than sister. Feyre nodded, tucking her hands inside her sleeves.

“Good morning,” Nesta offered. The brisk autumn wind nipped at them both, the house creaking its greeting. Feyre smiled at that, as the porch screens trembled, dancing, as if to say good morning.

“How long have the aunts been away?” Feyre asked.

“We have no idea. We left too,” Nesta said. “About a year after you did.”

Feyre nodded again, and Elain returned with her tea, leaning against the porch railing. The sisters sat in silence, watching the sun break over the horizon, as morning rose and the day began.

The sisters had not been together in five years.

Nesta could almost taste the memories of summers gone by, spent here in the overgrown yard, climbing apple trees, chasing fireflies, and learning how to read the stars at night. The rest of the year was spent at their father’s house, somber and silent, since their mother’s passing, when Nesta was no more than nine. And then the summer would come, and their father would send the sisters here, where his dead wife’s sisters could impart as much motherly love as they could fit into three months out of the year. It was the one time a year where Nesta felt like she belonged, where she didn’t have to hide. Where she felt powerful and capable and finally was enough.

Now, the house was just a husk of those happy memories. What was once filled with a summer’s worth of love and wonder sat empty, without the aunts to bring it to life.

“The gardens need some work,” Elain descended the back steps to the large garden, lifting flowers and inspecting the leaves, the stems for pests. “I can’t believe Aunt Mor and Aunt Amren would just leave it.”

Nesta shook her head. “It’s not like them.” The overall disarray of the house concerned her, and daylight only exposed more neglect.

The interior was what Nesta remembered it being; well-worn and tastefully cluttered. Dark hardwood floors that had gleamed when the aunts had been in residence, but since their departure had grown grimy. Thick carpets, heavy velvet drapes, and shelves and shelves of curios and knicknacks adorned the walls, all coated in a thick layer of dust. The dust was unusual for the house. Although the aunts weren’t particularly good about upkeep, they did work to keep the house spotless on the inside.

“Have you heard from them?” Feyre asked. “Since leaving?”

Nesta shook her head. “We left four years ago. It wasn’t on the best of terms.”

“What happened?”

“We fought.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nesta snapped, and winced at the harshness in her voice; Feyre reared back, shoulders hunching inwards, as if to protect herself. No, this haunted, ghostly girl was definitely _not_ like the sister Nesta remembered.

“Sorry,” Feyre murmured, looking down at her untouched tea. “I won’t bring it up again.”

“It… you’re… don’t…” Nesta blew out a frustrated sigh. “It was about a lot of things. Some more personal than others. It’s fine. I’m… I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

She missed the Feyre who had no qualms about going toe to toe with Nesta, the Feyre who could shoot back just as much as Nesta gave. The Feyre who saw Nesta’s fire and fed it with her own.

Feyre shrugged.

“Do you want to talk about him?” Nesta asked, but Feyre was already shaking her head firmly.

“Don’t.” Feyre said. “Not now. Never again.”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence while Elain perused the dying garden and pretended not to hear.

“Um, what do you want to do today?” Nesta asked after a moment. Feyre shrugged.

“We could go into town,” Elain said. “We need the supplies.”

Nesta made a face. The townspeople had been less than accommodating, even when they were children. Chants of “witch, witch, you’re a bitch!” still echoed in her dreams sometimes. Useless, terrible insults, but insults nonetheless.

“We can’t exactly eat from the garden,” Elain said. “Even I can’t coax a seed to bloom within a day.”

Nesta listened to the morning birds call. “You’re sure we can’t wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“We’re almost out of supplies,” Elain said. “And there’s a good chance no one will remember us.”

“In this small town?” Nesta snorted. “ Every summer they remembered us. Five more years won’t make a difference. We’re the ‘heathen Archeron sisters’. I think we’d be better off walking into church naked than strolling through the grocery store pretending to be “normal.”

Elain rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so overdramatic.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Nesta snapped, standing. “I just have no interest in being insulted by a group of catty small-town housewives who have nothing better to do than torment strangers and gossip about each other.”

“Fine, stay. Do you want to come with me, Feyre?” Elain asked gently. “Just a grocery run, and we’ll be right back.”

Feyre shrugged, staring off into the distance. “I didn’t sleep well. I’m tired.”

Elain let it lie, turning her gaze to Nesta.

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You’re a big girl, Elain.”

“So are you, Nesta,” Elain said cooly. “If you’re going to let a few snippy housewives scare you-”

“I’m not scared,” Nesta snapped. “We need to regroup. I don’t like us splitting up, even to go into town.”

“Me either,” Feyre said quietly.

Elain sighed, but nodded in agreement. “I’ll check the kitchen, I guess. But we’ll have to go sooner than later.” Nesta followed her inside, leaving Feyre to watch the sky with hazy eyes. 

The kitchen was fairly tidy, the pantry still stocked with the basics necessary for potions, however, some ingredients needed replacing. A wooden table, scratched and stained from who knew what was pushed against the far wall, next to the large bay windows that overlooked the backyard and the rocks that led down to a small, gravelly beach behind it. The sink and countertops were dusty but otherwise clean, and the long island in the middle of the room was bare of any clutter. The appliances, were the same outdated ones that seemed permanent fixtures of the kitchen.

Elain wrenched open the ancient, loud refrigerator and sighed. “Two eggs, some milk, bread, and a banana.” She glanced at Nesta. “Still don’t feel like heading into town?”

“Fuck,” Nesta muttered. She’d hoped to avoid the town as long as possible. “I guess, if we _have_ to, we could go-”

“Nesta!” Feyre called, her voice jarring. “Nesta, come here!”

They rushed outside to see a police cruiser ease its way up the gravel driveway, winding past the front of the house to the back.

“Fuck!” Nesta cursed, scrubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “Okay. Calm down.”

Elain had wrapped an arm around Feyre. Feyre clutched her mug to her chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just-”

“It’s fine,” Nesta said. “I’ll get rid of him. Go inside.”

“Be careful,” Elain said, before ushering her little sister into the house.

Nesta braced herself against the porch railing, and grasped for some semblance of composure.

***

Cassian had finally found some time to check up on the Archeron Crones’ house since Az had seen movement for the first time that past weekend. The drive was leisurely, almost haunting; the house sat on a hill where the road became gravel, and then dirt, winding up and up until it plateaued to a makeshift driveway. There was a car there already, muddy, dinged up. Squatters, almost positively.

He drove around towards the back, next to the overgrown gardens and into a small clearing. Cassian had expected to see a group of teens, or maybe some drifters, loitering in the big, abandoned house. He’d pictured vagrants, broken windows, beer cans, trash.

He didn’t expect to see a young woman glaring at his approaching car like he’d ruined her peaceful morning. Then again, maybe he had ruined it. She didn’t look afraid, like he’d expect of a burglar or vagrant. No, she looked angry.

He pulled to a stop and took his time getting out of the car, sliding his aviators off and tucking them into the neck of his uniform. The woman, clad in sweatpants and an oversized sweater, crossed her arms. Her brassy hair was thrown up into a bun, blues eyes still a tad sleepy. She was pretty, he noted, in a standoffish kind of way. And something about her… something stirred in his chest, a small, strange feeling, that he pushed away.

“Good morning!” He called, striding towards the porch steps, hand outstretched. He flashed her a smile, one that caught and kept women’s attention easily.

She made no move to greet him. “Can I help you, officer?” She asked coldly.

“Sheriff,” he corrected, and stopped at the foot of the porch steps. “Sheriff Knight, sweetheart. You can call me Cassian.” She remained in place, arms firmly crossed, so he let his hand drop. “We’d recieved a few calls that someone was in the Archeron Crone-ah- _sisters_ house. Wanted to make sure no one had broken in.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and peered down. She was an imperious woman, he noted. Either used to commanding attention, or directing it. “The _crones_ are our aunts,” she said, and Cassian resisted wincing at his slipup. “We’ve come to visit them.”

A truth and a lie, all in the same sentence. Interesting.

Cassian pounced. “Last I heard, your aunts haven’t been here for five years.”

“A surprise visit,” the lie rolled off her tongue without a hitch. “We should’ve called first, but we came all this way, so,” she shrugged. “Thought we’d stay awhile anyways.”

“I didn’t know the old Archeron sisters had nieces.”

She tilted her head. “You’re not from here, are you sheriff?”

“Nope,” Cassian flashed her a smile. “New to the area.”

She snorted. “Ask anyone in town. They’ll be happy to catch you up on fifteen years’ worth of slander about us.” She turned to head into the house. “Thanks for stopping by. As you can see, we’re not squatters. Have a nice day sheriff.” Truths, all of them. Very interesting.

“Hold it,” Cassian called. “Miss…”

“Nesta,” she said. “Nesta Archeron.”

“Miss Nesta,” he said with another grin, and she glared. “Miss Archeron. Say I head back to town, and no one confirms your story. Then what?”

She rolled her eyes, and Cassian couldn’t decide if he liked her attitude or not. “Sheriff. My sisters and I have had a long journey and we’re trying to relax in peace. Thank you _so_ much for the concern, but we’re fine. If you’re so worried about us being squatters, then feel free to come back if no one’s heard of us. But trust me,” she smiled, more of a sneer, one hand on the porch door, “they’ve heard of us.” And more truths. And yeah, he definitely liked the attitude.

“Well in that case, if your here to stay, you girls okay up here by yourselves at night? It’s a secluded house.” He bit back a smirk as her eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.

“We can protect ourselves.”

“Well, in case you feel like some extra muscle,” Cassian jerked his chin at her, “just call the sheriffs department. Me or my deputy will be happy to come over.”

“That won’t be necessary, sheriff.” Her voice was like a gale of icy wind. “Have a nice day.”

Cassian watched the screen door slam behind her, and saw the silhouettes of two more women standing at the window, watching him through the curtains. They disappeared when Nesta entered the house, the curtains twitching back into place.

This woman _was_ an Archeron, he knew; he’d let it slip at the grocery store on the way here, and the clerk, an older woman, had sneered. _Those Archeron girls were no good, never were. The Crones corrupted them, ever since they were children_.

Cassian stood for a moment, hands propped on hips, watching the house before climbing back into his car.

“Az,” he radioed on his way to the station. “Heading back from the Archeron house. Over.”

“Any squatters?”

“Negatory, just three girls, claiming to be nieces of the older Archeron sisters,” he said. “Aunts not there. No way to confirm a break-in until we hear back from the house owners.”

“What did your gut say? Were they lying?” Azriel asked.

“I spoke to one of them. She was… prickly. Mostly honest - they _are_ the Crones’s nieces. But she was hiding something.” 

Cassian had always had a knack for knowing when people were lying to him. Intuition, ESP, astuteness, whatever it was. His gut was never wrong. He always knew, instantly.

“And the lie?”

“She lied about not knowing the aunts were gone,” Cassian said. “Something’s off.”

Az knew better than to doubt him. “Well. I’ll ask around. See if anyone knows anything about them.”

“Do that,” Cassian said. “Heading back. Over and out.”

As he drove, he mused about the angry woman, the ghostly sisters, the missing aunts, and the strange stirring he felt in his gut, the moment he locked eyes with the pretty, prickly Nesta Archeron.

***

“What did he want?” Elain asked when Nesta practically slammed the door behind her. She twitched the curtains aside, watching the brawny sheriff squeeze back into his cruiser before pulling away, down the driveway.

Nesta was on edge. For what, she didn’t know. Maybe it was the way he seemed to see _into_ her, or the way he smiled at her, like he’d met her before. He was arrogant, she decided, charming, and he knew it. Good looking, powerful shoulders that bulged with muscle, a broad chest, cocky gait. She knew that kind. She didn’t like it.

“Thought we were squatters,” Nesta muttered. “Asked about the aunts. He’s new here; hadn’t heard of us. I told him we came to surprise the aunts. He had the gall to call me a liar.”

“Is he coming back?” Elain asked.

“I hope not,” Nesta snapped. “Arrogant bastard. He hit on me!”

Elain gasped and Feyre reared back at the window to look at her. “No way?”

“He said, if we wanted some ‘extra muscle,’” Nesta made air quotes, “I could give him a call. Of all the disgusting, boorish, _agh_ ,” she spluttered, “as if I’d ever call! What does he think we are, _children_?”

Feyre snorted, and Elain rolled her eyes. “Or he was being a gentleman. He’s right; we are three young women in a house far from town, alone.”

“Well, lucky for us, we’re witches,” Nesta snapped, irritated. Something about that sheriff rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was his smile, the way he called her sweetheart. The way his eyes lingered a moment too long on her face, her body, the length of her. Men. All the same.

Elain handed Nesta a piece of toast. “That’s all we have. You’re hangry, and we need to get cracking on warding this place before shit falls apart.”

Feyre had wrapped her arms around herself again. “Do you think he’ll come back?” She asked, quietly. “What if he asks about Tamlin.”

“He _won’t_ ,” Nesta said, taking a vicious bite. “I’ll drive him off the property with a stick myself if I have to.”

“There’s no way he’d know,” Elain coaxed Feyre to the dusty table. “We just have to act calm, lay low.”

“Hard to do in this town,” Nesta slumped next to Feyre. “We have to do a grocery run, you’re right Elain. People will have seen our car by now; the gossip vine travels fast, especially if Maria Wilson’s parents still own half the town.” Maria had been one of Nesta’s least favorite classmates, due to her big mouth and utter disdain for anyone who wasn’t from old Massachusetts money.

Elain shrugged. “If we play it cool, we’ll be secondhand news by the end of the week.”

“Not in this town, we’ve never been anything but.”

Feyre was looking progressively paler, and began rubbing her hands against her eyes. “I-I think I need to go lie down.”

“Let me make you some more tea,” Elain said, squeezing Feyre’s shoulder and glaring at Nesta. She could see it in Elain’s doe brown eyes, _stop scaring Feyre._

“I’d take some tea,” Feyre said. “Do you still make that valerian tea?”

“Nesta drinks it by the gallon,” Elain said. “Luckily the aunts left the herb cabinet stocked.”

Feyre curled her knees to her chest and watched Elain shuffle through bottles in the cabinet next to the stove. “Did you guys do much magic after… after everything.”

“Here and there,” Elain said. “I kept up with most of the tinctures and tonics. Nesta fell behind on her charms.”

“They hardly mattered anymore,” Nesta muttered. “No point in using them if there was no need.”

“You were the best of all of us,” Feyre said quietly. “I remember you could cast so many.”

“That’s behind me now.”

Elain rolled her eyes and fixed her attention back on the bottles. “Chamomile, lemongrass, lavender… ah, valerian root. There’s just enough left.”

“Extra honey please, if it’s there.” Feyre’s voice was quiet, watching Elain shake a careful spoonful of each of the dried herbs into a tea filter.

“Chamomile to calm the mind,” Elain murmured, “valerian to help you sleep, with their power you shall find, a most relaxing, deep sleep.” She slipped the homemade teabag into a mug with a dollop of clover honey. 

“Thank you,” Feyre murmured, accepting the drink. She closed her eyes, inhaling the tea’s floral scent. “I could never make a brew the way you did. I, ah, missed it.”

“Drink all of it,” Elain said, leaning against the counter. “Every drop.”

“You sound like Aunt Mor,” said Nesta.

“Thank you,” Elain said. “You sound like Amren.” Amren, they all recalled, was glacial on the best of days. “You should go back to bed, Feyre.”

Feyre was already glassy eyed, and nodded, drifting away from the table and up the stairs to her bedroom.

“I’m going to the grocery store,” Elain said. “You coming, or not?”

“Tonight,” Nesta said. “We’ll go tonight. I’m not leaving Feyre alone here, especially without the house warded.”

Elain sighed and rubbed her face. “You’re right. We should do that first.”

The sisters moved through the house, sprinkling salt and placing crystals they’d found in their aunts’ workroom along windowsills and doorways throughout the house.

“Salt for protection, tourmaline to ground,” Elain murmured, while Nesta traced the final line.

“So what’s inside cannot be found,” Nesta finished.

Seeing the house after several years away was strange; nothing was different, but then again, everything was. The broken banister where Feyre had slid down and crashed to the bottom when she was ten, the smudges against the workroom walls where Nesta relentlessly practiced charms by candlelight, the edge of the back porch where Elain had coaxed an ivy plant to burst through the wooden slats and cling to the side of the house. All there. But the energy the aunts commanded, the warmth, the peace. It was gone. Nesta could see Elain too was unfocused, as if watching ghosts of the past drift by.

“Do you see anything?” Nesta asked.

“Nothing new,” Elain said. “Just memories.” The workroom was where the sisters had spent most of their time with the aunts, laughing, learning, bathed in sunlight streaming in through the wall of east-facing windows. Now, the room was dark and empty, shades pulled, and Elain felt heavy under the weight of the time passed by. She reached for Nesta’s hand, and Nesta squeezed it.

“It’s been a long time,” Nesta agreed. “I wish-” she stopped.

“I know,” Elain said. “I wish they were here too.”

***

Nesta spent the afternoon in the workshop, staring out the window at the sky. Feyre was still asleep, and Elain was trying to sort out the garden, however, this late in autumn meant there was nothing much left to harvest. They’d have to prepare for winter.

Nesta’s fingertips itched, her thumbs pricked, reminding her of the magic that was so easily in reach. She flexed her hands, as if to shake the power loose, or shake it away.

The workroom was warm, warmer than most of the house, either by the windows or an enchantment courtesy of her aunts. It still smelled of dried rosemary and sage, candle wax, old books, with a hint of dust. She though Mor’s perfume lingered in the air, but it might have been a trick of memory.

Everything was exactly as she remembered. Shelves of bottles and jars lined the back wall, dried herbs hung from the ceiling in bunches. The aunts hadn’t bothered to clean, or pack, from what Nesta could see. They’d just up and gone.

The workbench was still piled high with books and papers, stained notes, half-melted candles, bowls, pens. Nesta sifted through a few stacks, and seeing Amren’s messy scrawl next to Mor’s neat notes was like a blow to the chest.

A locked chest rested below the workbench, dark brown wood blending in with the floorboards. Nesta knew exactly what was inside, but hesitated to open it. After a few years of pushing the power down, to face it again… Her thumbs pricked again, urgently, as if to say, _open it. Bring it all back._

“Nesta!” Elain jarred her out of her thoughts. “Feyre’s awake. The house is warded. We need to eat.”

Nesta stepped away from the workbench, almost grateful for the distraction. “What do we have?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Elain said. “And we need to get a proper meal into Feyre. She needs the food.” Elain leaned against the doorjamb. “You might not like this suggestion, but we really need to go into town. THere’s a little restaurant I saw that looks new. At least, I don’t remember it being here when we were here. And we can get groceries.”

“Fine,” Nesta sighed, and turned to the windows, surprised to see the sun was already dipping below the horizon. “But let’s make it quick. I don’t like being out at night.”

Elain gave her a small smile. “We’re the Archeron sisters. Who’d be dumb enough to fuck with us?”

Nesta’s unamused glare made Elain snort. “Be ready in ten,” she called, already halfway down the hallway. “And stop staring at the grimoire like it’ll bite you.”

The grimoire. The aunts’ grimoire, locked away in that innocent-looking chest. All the secrets Nesta had once craved to know and been forbidden from reading, nearly at her fingertips. 

Locked away, like Nesta herself.

***

When Nesta was a child, she suppressed her inner witch nine months out of the year. Her mother had succumbed to the Archeron Curse and married their father, a weak and foolish man, in a fit of blind love. She hid her magic away, so as not to tempt the other half of the curse, and he pretended his wife and daughters weren’t anything other than ordinary.

But in the summer, here, at the house on the hill, Nesta could be whole.

The aunts were everything their parents were not. Warm, vibrant, loving, but oftentimes brutal, Mor and Amren were equal parts cruel and kind. Aunt Mor was cheerful and friendly, and she was the one the townspeople would approach, if they dared. Although she was motherly, there was a hard edge to her that Nesta found bone-chiling. Aunt Amren was her opposite, cold and brusque, but if Nesta glanced at her at the right moment, she’d see something like fondness flit across the woman’s face when she was watching the young Archeron sisters practice their craft. 

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre thrived under the aunts’ tutelage. Summers of potion making and charm casting, celebrating the solstice every year by dancing in a moonlit grove with the aunts who let them be carefree and just as vibrant. The sisters were friends every summer, just for a little while, until autumn came and they returned home.

At home, Nesta was a stoic child, stubborn, like their mother. Elain was quiet, always watching, always listening. And Feyre always had a faraway look in her eyes. Nesta would often catch her staring out the window at the sky at night, wistful.

She had never believed the stories about Archeron women falling for weak and foolish men whom they could only love in halves until the day she watched her father sit uselessly as their mother faded and did nothing to ease her pain. 

Nesta was ten years old when she stood at the foot of her mother’s deathbed, with Feyre and Elain each clutching a hand.

“Any man who dares to love an Archeron woman,” her mother had hissed to her daughters, bleary gaze fixed on her husband, his back turned to her, “will suffer for being so careless. He will die a fool.”

It had been love that killed her mother, not sickness. Love for a weak man who sat and watched his wife fade, who couldn’t bear the sight of his three daughters. A man who learned too late that his wife only loved him with half her heart, and she was touched by, as he put it, the devil. And not long after, he too died like all men who loved Archeron women, painfully, pathetically, without being anyone of consequence.

And so, as Cassandra Archeron died, surrounded by her three daughters who had needed her more than anything, and a man too cowardly to love them as they needed, Nesta felt the curse echo in her bones, and she swore never to fall in love, even if it meant she was left with half a heart, or no heart at all.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is my first attempt at a full-length fic in a while, I'm a bit rusty. Any feedback would be lovely regarding plot, etc, especially if you're a fan of Practical Magic and/or Charmed! :)


	3. Always on My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this chapter describes a brief violent/threatening encounter near the end of the chapter, please skip ahead if you feel the need. 
> 
> Songs for this chapter: Always On My Mind by Willie Nelson, and You Belong to Me by Cat Pierce
> 
> Full disclosure, even though Nesta might be my favorite for a number of reasons, I’m loving writing Elain’s character. For some reason, she's turning out to be sassier and a bigger potty mouth than in the books, and I'm HERE for it.

_I must confess to you, I want to possess you_   
_Feels like we're dreaming, we're tripping and reeling_   
_Just say that you belong to me_

_-You Belong to Me, Cat Pierce_

_Maybe I didn't treat you quite as good as I should have_   
_Maybe I didn't love you quite as often as I could have..._   
_You were always on my mind_

_-Always on My Mind, Willie Nelson_

The restaurant in question was a small pub called _Velaris_. It was just a twenty minute drive from the house, and the car ride was silent. Elain tried to disarm the tension that hung in the air with a stream of mindless chatter: how she’d forgotten about how cute the town was, admiring the picturesque, cookie cutter houses, the leaves, an interesting looking bookshop she didn’t remember being there before they left, and maybe Nesta wanted to look at it later in the week? Neither of her sisters spoke.

Thankfully, _Velaris_ was bustling when they entered. The atmosphere, warmed by the wood paneling and tastefully dimmed lighting, was cheerful and friendly. They were seated by a friendly, quiet waitress whose name tag read “Nuala”, and left them to look over the menu before disappearing, as if made of smoke.

“What did I tell you?” Elain said. “This place is great.”

Nesta shifted in her seat, examining the long, gleaming bar surrounded by other patrons, talking, laughing, drinking. “It’s alright.” She wasn’t used to so much noise, so many people, so many _happy_ people in one place. She didn’t see anyone they knew, thankfully. She couldn’t face that yet.

Feyre didn’t answer, but Nesta saw how she eyed the tall, dark-haired bartender as he poured drinks, then looked away when he glanced their way, a mixture of longing and something else flashing across her face.

“So. What’s the plan?” Elain prompted them both.

“Sorry?” Feyre asked, turning her attention back to Elain.

“Our plan. Our new lives. What are we going to do, now that we’re moved in?”

“You have something in mind?” Nesta asked Elain. 

She shrugged. “Maybe. We can’t stay in the house forever. There was a flower shop I saw down the road with a “help wanted” sign in the window. And,” she winked at Nesta, “I think the library is hiring.”

“How do you know that?”

Elain paused, eyes flashing milky white before returning to their deep, doe brown. “Well, okay, it _will_ be hiring. Say, next week?”

Feyre smiled softly. “What happened to not using magic for personal gain, like the aunts always said?”

Elain waved her away. “We all know they just used that to scare us from trying to outsmart them or get into trouble. Goddess knows _they_ did it all the time.”

Feyre was about to reply, when her eyes fixed on something in the distance, and the color drained from her face. Elain and Nesta twisted around to look, and saw a tall blonde man approach the bar. All three sisters exhaled sharply when he turned around, revealing an unfamiliar face.

Not Tamlin.

“I’m seeing him everywhere,” Feyre muttered, shaking her head. “I keep expecting him to come up behind me or knock on the door, or something.”

“No more,” Nesta said sharply. “We don’t speak of it. He’s gone. It’s over.”

Feyre nodded, but her eyes were still unfocused. “Knee-jerk reaction. I-I’m sorry for scaring you guys.”

Nesta just nodded, and Elain gently put her hand on top of Feyre’s, resting on the table. “We’re safe. We took care of it.”

Feyre took another deep breath, before standing. “I need a drink.”

“I’ll get it,” Nesta said, attempting to soften her tone. “You still look a little… pale.”

“Make it strong,” Feyre rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair, agitated. “I don’t really care what it is.”

Nesta nodded, knowing Elain would just want a glass of wine, and walked towards the handsome bartender Feyre had been watching. He smiled at her, friendly, with a hint of cockiness as Nesta approached. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka on the rocks,” she glanced back at Feyre. “A double. And two glasses of Chardonnay.” Nesta scanned the pub again while he got her the drinks, and grimaced when she saw a few high school classmates clustered in the corner, next to the bathroom. _Can’t go to the bathroom, I guess,_ she noted.

“Rough day?” The bartender asked. He was handsome, Nesta could see why he’d caught Feyre’s eye. A black t-shirt hugged his lean and muscled torso, dark hair and violet eyes that set off his tan skin, but it was the cocky smile that irked Nesta, just a bit.

“You could say that,” she muttered, grabbing for her wallet. “How much?”

He waved away her money. “On the house.” The bartender nodded towards her table, where Feyre and Elain were talking quietly. Feyre’s shoulders were still slumped over and she kept glancing around the pub, watching the door, keeping track of people coming and going. “She looks like she could use a drink.”

“Don’t we all.” she nodded to him. “Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

“Drink up,” Nesta said to her sisters, setting the glasses down with a forceful clink and took a long drink from her glass. The wine was sweet and not too dry, but it still burned. Nesta nodded to the drink in Feyre’s hands. “The bartender said it’s all on the house.”

Feyre’s eyes widened, and when she turned to look, she saw he was already watching them, and waved lazily, winking.

Feyre turned back around and took her own large sip from her drink. Nesta thought she saw pink tinge Feyre’s cheeks, but the lighting was too dim to know for sure.

“Wow,” Elain breathed. “He’s still looking, Feyre.”

“Oh Goddess,” Feyre muttered.

“Cocky bastard,” Nesta grumbled. “There’s already too many in this town.”

Their food arrived, and the girls ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Nesta was fuming silently, while Elain watched how the bartender’s eyes kept returning to Feyre, and Feyre tried to anchor herself in reality.

“What happened after I… left?” Feyre asked, pushing her fries around her plate.

Nesta studied the wood grain of the table.

Elain spoke. “The aunts missed you.” _We missed you_.

“I… missed them too.” Feyre hesitated. “Why did you two leave?”

“The aunts and I fought,” Nesta said.

“About what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Nesta snapped, then winced when Feyre drew back and lapsed back into silence.

“We went back to New York,” Elain offered. “For awhile. Lived like normal.”

“We were never normal,” Nesta muttered, taking another slug of wine. “Not even when we tried to be at home.”

“We’re Archeron witches,” Elain said, twisting spaghetti around on her fork. “We’re back home. That’s what I meant; we need to get back to the craft. Build our strength.” She shot Nesta a look. _We need to be ready._

Nesta looked away. “We haven’t been witches in five years, El.”

“What did aunt Mor used to say? _You can hide from the moon, but she still watches you_.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Aunt Mor said a lot of things.”

Feyre snickered, softly. After a moment, Nesta reached out and gripped her elbow. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Feyre smiled at her, a hint of the old Feyre shining through. “Me too.”

“I think we should celebrate Samhain this year,” Elain said. “Nesta and I didn’t celebrate while we were away.”

“Without the aunts?” Nesta asked.

Elain shrugged. “We have the house at least.”

“I haven’t celebrated Samhain in a long time,” Feyre said. “He… he didn’t like holidays.” She poked at her half-eaten bowl of soup with her spoon.

“But you loved Samhain,” Elain said. “I remember, it used to be your favorite.”

Feyre shrugged. “Tamlin. Um. He told me not to.”

Nesta’s eyebrows flew up. “Excuse me?”

“What does _that_ mean?” Elain asked. “Did you tell him you were a witch?”

“No!” Feyre said. “He wouldn’t have understood. And he didn’t like Halloween. Can we-can we stop talking about it?”

“No, we’re going to talk about it.” Nesta snapped. “What do you mean he ‘told you not to’?”

Feyre chewed her lower lip before exhaling. “Tamlin didn’t like Halloween, and when I asked to celebrate it, he said no. And when he said no, he meant it.”

Elain and Nesta stared at her until Nesta broke the silence. She leaned in, voice low, but dangerous.

“Feyre, what did he do to you?”

Feyre looked at the ceiling and didn’t answer.

“Feyre-”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Feyre said. “Forget I said anything. It’s stupid.”

“Feyre, when Elain and I showed up, you had a black eye and Tamlin tried to kill us. What. Did. He. Do. To. You.”

“Leave it alone, Nesta!” Feyre snapped, and the room seemed to grow darker. “Forget I said anything. That’s why we’re here, right? To forget it?”

The candle, unlit on their table, flared to life, and Feyre and Elain jumped back as Nesta’s eyes gleamed, the blue turning electric.

“People are staring,” Elain whispered, jerking Nesta’s arm. “This isn’t ‘laying low’.”

Nesta felt her power surge, fingertips tingling, and stared at the candle’s flame, flickering madly, as if caught in a gale. There was no draft in the restaurant. The flames cast shadows along Feyre’s hollow cheeks, making the fading bruising around Feyre’s eye darker. It had been fresher when Nesta and Elain had burst into that hotel room in L.A. last week, and seen their sister face to face.

Feyre ducked her head, hair swinging forward as if to shield herself.

Nesta took several deep breaths before finishing her wine, and then reaching for Feyre’s unfinished drink.

“I’ll get the waitress,” Elain said, pushing her plate away. “We’re going home.”

Feyre shivered, arms wrapped around herself while Nesta clenched and unclenched her hands, as if to shake away the magic.

“You ladies okay?” The bartender had wandered over, concern dancing across his face, his gaze catching on Feyre, and the bruise on her cheek. His gaze hardened when he looked back at Nesta, now with suspicion. “Is she okay?”

“None of your business,” Nesta bit out, while Feyre echoed with a quiet, “I’m fine.”

The longer he studied Feyre’s face, Nesta noted something else creep into his expression. His eyes were still hard with anger, but his mouth had softened. She didn’t know what it meant, but she didn’t like it.

“Are you three in trouble?” He looked at Nesta, taking in the fading scratches on her collarbone, the bruises on Elain’s forearms. Nesta had nearly forgotten about the marks; the scratches Tamlin had gouged into her stopped hurting after Elain had treated it. “Who did this to you?” Nesta could hear it in his voice, the anger, the disbelief. The pity. The first two she’d allow. The pity? That was another story. And she didn’t like how curious he was.

“We’ll take the check,” Nesta said, standing, her chair skidding across the floor.

The bartender wasn’t fazed. He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticked. “No charge. Here,” he fished a pen out of his pocket and scrawled a number on a napkin. “My brother’s the sheriff. This is his cell.” He wrote another number down and passed it to Feyre. “And here’s mine. In case you need anything else.”

She refused to meet his eyes, but he still searched her face. “Thank you,” Feyre whispered.

“That won’t be necessary-” Nesta began, but Elain cut her off.

“Thank you, uh...”

“Rhysand. Call me Rhys.” He flashed a smile at Elain, and Nesta rolled her eyes. It figured the sheriff had a brother who was just as cocky as him.

“Rhys. I’m Elain. These are my sisters, Feyre and Nesta.”

Elain shook his hand, and Nesta ignored it when he offered it to her as well. He tilted his head at Feyre, and, Nesta noticed, didn’t move suddenly, nor did he reach for her. “Nice to meet you, Feyre.”

She finally met his eyes, and didn’t look away. Feyre, who was so skittish around everyone and everything, who jumped at shadows and flinched when Nesta raised her voice on accident, met Rhys’s eyes without fear. A beat passed, and then another, as they stood there watching each other, Nesta and Elain forgotten.

Nesta cleared her throat, and Elain elbowed her, but it was too late. Feyre blinked, and the spell was broken, but Rhysand still watched her.

“Let’s go,” Nesta said. “We need to get back.”

Elain elbowed her again.

“I hope you enjoyed dinner,” Rhys said. “You’re welcome back anytime.” He winked at the sisters. “Free of charge.”

Elain grinned. “We’ll definitely be back.”

Nesta slipped her arm through Feyre’s and gestured to Elain. “Thanks, I guess. Let’s go.”

She ushered her sisters out into the night, away from the smirking bartender, far too like his brother for Nesta’s comfort.

The drive home was quiet; Feyre leaned her head against the window, but her quiet was different this time. Less cold. Elain watched the windshield as Nesta drove.

“The sheriff has a brother,” Elain said. Nesta pursed her lips. “And what a gentleman this one is too.”

“Don’t start, Elain,” Nesta said quietly. “The last thing we need is the sheriff poking around.”

Elain sighed. “You’re right. I just… I have a good feeling about them.”

Nesta harrumphed. “A ‘good feeling’ is different than a vision.”

“I’ve Seen men,” Elain said. “Especially the past few nights. A man with sad eyes. Another man with fiery eyes. And a third with eyes like night.”

 _Fiery eyes_. A memory rose, unbidden and Nesta shook her head to clear it. “Three, not two,” she retorted to Elain. “And certainly no dreams about lawmen.”

“Rhys was a bartender, not a cop,” Elain rolled her eyes when Nesta harumphed again. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”

Nesta thought Feyre had fallen asleep, but when they pulled into the driveway, she was surprised to find her awake, eyes hazy. “I’m going to bed,” Feyre said, wrapping her arms around herself, already heading up the driveway for the front door.

“Are you okay?” Elain called.

“Fine,” Feyre said. “Tired. Goodnight.”

Nesta knew that lie; she’d used it herself too many times to count. She watched Feyre disappear into the house, and sighed.

“You should apologize to her,” Elain said once they were seated in the kitchen, the front door firmly locked and bolted against the night. “I can’t believe you two are already at each other’s throats.”  
“We are _not_ ,” Nesta snarled, but Elain raised her eyebrows, and leveled a look at her.

“Dammit,” Nesta muttered. “We bring out the worst in each other. We always have. I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Try,” Elain said. “She needs comfort, not combat.”

“I _am_ trying!” Nesta snarled again, then dropped her head onto the table. “Goddess damn it. I’m sorry, Elain. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“It’s been a week,” Elain said. “Do you want some of the valerian tea, too?”

“Might be best,” Nesta rubbed her eyes. “Goddess. What a mess.”

“We haven’t talked about that thing,” Elain said, brewing the tea. “My dreams.”

“I know,” Nesta said. “I’m trying to think of a solution.”

“Have you checked the grimoire?”

“No.”

“Well,” Elain set the mug in front of Nesta and sat down. “I can scry for the aunts again, but they’re pretty determined to not be found. We need more ideas. More power.”

“I haven’t done magic in four years, Elain,” Nesta said. “I don’t think we can do this without them.”

“We’ll have to try,” Elain said. “You don’t think…”

“That they’re dead?” Nesta took a too-big gulp and winced when the tea scalded her throat going down. “We’d know for sure. They’re… elsewhere. Wherever the fuck that is.”

“I’ll dig around tomorrow,” Elain yawned. “Maybe they left something here. A clue, or fuck, even ticket stubs. I have no idea. They must have known we were going to come back for them. Someday.”

Nesta shrugged. “Goddess, I wish they were here. They’d know what to do.”

Elain nodded and stood. “I’m going to check on Feyre, and go to bed. You too; you have about fifteen minutes before the valerian kicks in and you pass out on the spot.”

Nesta blinked slowly, the fuzzy warm edges of dreamless sleep already beginning to creep in. “Feyre…”

“You can apologize in the morning,” Elain said, guiding Nesta up the stairs. “She’ll still be here. And so will you.”

***

Feyre tossed and turned. Sleep would not come, and when it did, it was heavy and murky, not like the warm comforting dark of her bedroom, but colder, almost heavy.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Tamlin’s lifeless, bloody body stretched on the floor, eyes frozen open, glaring at her. Blaming her for everything that had gone wrong.

Sometimes she’d dream he succeeded in killing them, felt his hand wrap itself around her throat, and she’d thrash awake, drenched in sweat. She’d see her sisters sprawled on the floor instead of Tamlin, eyes dull, faces bloody. She’d see herself beside them.

She’d dream of this too, when she was still living with Tamlin, in that beautiful apartment in L.A., caged in from the rest of the world, looking out at the city and the people below.

 _What did he do to you?_ Nesta had snapped, in her usual Nesta way.

Feyre asked herself the same question, staring at the ceiling. This room, her childhood bedroom, had housed a curious, bright-eyed girl. Now, that girl felt all but gone.

Without Elain’s tea to help her fall into an empty sleep, Feyre finally dozed, and dreamed.

_Tamlin, long blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight, smiled down at her, and she shivered. His teeth were bared, his grin not so much a grin but a snarl. He leaned against the front door._

_“You can’t leave me, Feyre,” he said. “You love me.”_

_She clutched her bag closer to her chest, a shield. “Step aside, Tamlin. I’ve had enough. I want to go home.”_

_“This is home._ I’m _your home.”_

_Feyre bit her lip and shook her head. She wanted to cry, to scream, but her throat felt clogged. “I can’t stay here any longer.”_

_“Feyre, baby,” Tamlin reached for her, and she flinched back. His eyes narrowed. “Feyre, come here.”_

_“No.”_

_“Feyre, come here,” he said again, lower. “Don’t make me say it again.”_

_Feyre closed her eyes and reached inside herself for the last sparks of power she’d kept smoldering. The last bits of strength she’d kept alive. “No. I’m going home. Move aside.”_

_Tamlin laughed. “Home? To your crazy aunts and bitch sisters? You’d really prefer them to me?” His hand lashed out, faster than she could react, and wrapped around her wrist. Tamlin squeezed, and Feyre nearly shrieked. “They don’t love you,” Tamlin hissed. “They don’t love you like I do. Don’t you dare leave me for them.”_

_“Let go!”_

_“Stay with me, Feyre,” Tamlin twisted her arm, and Feyre cried out, dropping her backpack. “You love me. You’re not leaving.”_

_“Please,” It was a broken plea. Feyre hated that her voice shook._

_“You love me,” Tamlin asked. He didn’t let go of her arm. Feyre shuddered when she saw the wild look in his eyes. “Don’t you?”_

_Her voice shook again. “Tamlin-”_

_“DON’T YOU?” He roared._

_“No!” Feyre screamed. “Not since you became this…_ monster! _”_

 _Tamlin’s face changed; he dropped her wrist and Feyre shrank back again, but Tamlin advanced. “You think I’m a monster?” He asked, his voice now gone deathly quiet. “Everything I’ve done is because I love you.” He kept advancing, and Feyre felt cold, colder than she’d ever felt. There was no light in Tamlin’s eyes. This_ was _a monster, someone new, someone empty and dangerous. She’d just been too blinded to see it._

_“Stay back.”_

_Tamlin kept moving forward, and Feyre closed her eyes. For the first time in five years, she called to that small spark of power inside her, the magic she’d worked to bury, to hide from Tamlin, and used it to call into the ether._

Elain… Nesta… _She called, as Tamlin advanced and she slammed her back up against the wall._ Help me… L.A., please, please… _her power swelled, and she felt the familiar pinpricks of her power in her fingertips as Tamlin advance closer, and she had nowhere else to go._

_“I’m coming for you,” Tamlin whispered against her ear, and Feyre jerked. She didn’t remember this part. He'd never said that... had he?_

_“I know you’re out there,” he whispered again. “I will find you. Wherever you are.”_

“No!” Feyre jerked awake, tangled in her bedsheets. A gust of wind outside slammed the shutters against her window, and she shrieked, scrambling back until she was pressed against the headboard. “Oh Goddess,” Feyre moaned, pressing her forehead to her knees. “Just a dream, just a dream,” she murmured. 

No, not a dream, but a memory, a terrible memory. 

The raid had started up again that night, wind rattling the windows, and she took another deep breath before standing and fastening the shutters back in place. The sky was murky, and she wished she could see the stars. Even when she was in L.A., with all the light pollution, they’d shine most nights, as if reminding her she was being watched over. They’d watched her, always constant, even when she herself was lost.

She shivered. _I will find you._ She didn’t remember that part. That was new. She’d felt as if something had crawled into her brain, heard the whisper of Tamlin’s voice in her ears: _I will find you_.

 _No. No no no no._ He was dead; she and her sisters had killed him in that hotel room, in L.A., forcing enough belladonna down his throat to fell a horse. He’d collapsed, after leaving his own marks on the sisters.

They’d buried him in an unmarked grave in the desert. Elain had sung to the cacti and new shoots sprouted over the grave, growing taller until you couldn’t tell the dirt had been disturbed in the first place. Nesta had bit her lip and watched, hands dirty, scraped fingers wrapped around the shovel.

Tamlin Rose was no more. Feyre was free.

Or so they thought.

Feyre sat on the window seat and leaned against the glass, staring at the cloudy sky and wished for the stars. She wished for the aunts, she wished for her mother. She wished for a time before all of this, before she’d made a rash decision and left her sisters behind in a fit of anger and pride.

She wished for her magic, but after calling for help, that last spark seemed to have died.

Being a witch meant you didn’t fear the same things as ordinary people. Witches weren’t scared of the dark. It was foolish, and moreover, unnecessary. There was always the moon and stars to light the way, if they knew where to look.

Feyre had never been afraid of the dark, not even as a child, not even when she was with Tamlin. The night had always been an old friend to her, whispering its secrets into her ear. The stars always seemed to shine the brightest for Feyre. The moon was never so luminous. Even the new moon promised a glimmer of light if she looked hard enough. The night reminded her she was never alone. So when she felt the loneliest, she would look to the stars, and feel as if they were looking back.

Feyre fell asleep like that, leaning against the window, knees curled to her chest. And deep inside, her power flickered, as if calling into night, asking for some light. And this time, when she dreamed, she dreamt of the bartender with the violet eyes.

_He raised his hand to cup her face, gently, as if she were made of glass. He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone, and Feyre was filled with warmth. Warmth and darkness, that wrapped around her like a blanket, protecting her from any other dreams._


	4. Plant Your Hope with Good Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super in love with this chapter, but I'm tired and being a working adult who writes is hard, so I'm not going to stress too much about it... even posting a chapter is a win in and of itself for me...
> 
> This chapter inspired by: 
> 
> -Bible Belt, Dry the River  
> -Which Witch, Florence + the Machine  
> -Woman King, Iron and Wine  
> -Natural, Imagine Dragons  
> -Hallelujah, HAIM  
> -Sisters of the Moon, Fleetwood Mac  
> -Thistle and Weeds, Mumford & Sons

_A hundred years, hundred more_  
_Someday we may see a_  
_Woman king, sword in hand_  
_Swing at some evil and bleed_

_-Woman King, Iron & Wine_

_Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams,_  
_'Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams..._  
_But plant your hope with good seeds,_  
_Don't cover yourself with thistle and weeds,_  
_Rain down, rain down on me_

_-Thistle and Weeds, Mumford & Sons_

Nesta and Feyre peered over Elain’s shoulder at the map she’d spread out on the bench in the aunts’ workroom. She swung aunt Amren’s crystal pendulum across the surface in slow circles.

“No luck?” Nesta asked finally, when the pendulum refused to settle.

Elain let it clatter to the table and sighed. “Nothing. They’re determined not to be found.”

Feyre drifted away, trailing her fingers down the spines of dusty notebooks crammed into overfull shelves. “What do we do if we can’t find them at all?”

“Ever?” Elain asked. “I guess we have to go look for them.”

“We don’t have that luxury,” Nesta said. “We’ve barely settled here. Goddess knows we need to run around on wild goose chases like we need a hole in the head.”

Elain inclined her head in agreement and tucked the map and pendulum away. “We do have pressing business.” She leaned her hips against the bench and looked at her sisters. “We need to talk about my visions. And Feyre’s dreams.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Your aura is _so_ unsettled, especially this morning.” Elain tilted her head. “What did you dream of?”

“Elain,” Nesta began, but Feyre waved her off.

“I can’t keep ignoring them,” Feyre sighed and sat in aunt Mor’s ornately carved wooden chair, similarly stained with wax and ink and other things. The sisters had never been allowed to sit in it as children. “You were right Nesta; I have to talk about it.”

“I didn’t mean to push you,” Nesta said quietly. “You know that. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Feyre smiled, but there was no light behind her eyes. “I know.”

Elain and Nesta perched on stools and watched Feyre turn her head and gaze out the window, at the dancing leaves that swirled in the wind. The morning was chilly, mist hanging in the air, draping the forest surrounding the property in an air of mystery. Elain thought it was more protective, than anything, as if hiding the house away from the dangers of the world.

Feyre exhaled, and knotted her fingers together. “I dreamt of the night I called out for help. It was more of a memory, really. Tamlin was… angry. I’d asked to leave, because I’d been miserable for more than a year.”

“Why?” Nesta demanded. “A whole year?”

Feyre, still watching the leaves shook her head. She didn’t, couldn’t, dredge it up yet. The year and a half of absolute misery and fear. “It was just a replay of that night. It was like he’d snapped. And it played out until… the end. And then it… changed.”

“Changed how?”

Elain watched Feyre’s knuckles turn white as she squeezed her hands together. “He told me he’d find me. Like he knew where I - where _we_ \- were. It was like I could hear him, right next to me.”

“Shit,” Elain breathed. “I knew it.”

Feyre tore her gaze away from the window. “What?”

“I’ve been having visions, since the whole thing, in L.A.,” Elain said. “It’s like… I see a beast, something not quite human, but not animal. Otherwordly. Shadows. Shadows around us, everywhere.”

Feyre shivered. “What does that have to do with Tamlin?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said. “I didn’t want to worry you. But… something is out there.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were milky white. The brown disappeared until an otherworldly glow emanated from Elain’s face and she stared, blankly.

Feyre and Nesta both stood as Elain swayed on her stool, eyes now pools of white.

“She hasn’t had a vision since we left,” Nesta whispered. “Not like this, not in a long time.”

Elain gasped, mouth moving, hands twitching. Nesta feared she’d tilt backwards to the floor, but the glow faded and Elain slumped inwards on herself, clutching the edges of her seat for balance.

“Elain?” Feyre whispered. “What did you see.”

Elain blinked, rubbed her eyes. “Three men. Like before. A man with sad eyes. Another with fiery ones. A third with eyes like night. A woman, with hate in her eyes. A monster, wearing Tamlin’s face, his hair. The house, oh Goddess, the house,” Elain gasped. “The house is on fire. Screaming. Blood. A battle. Oh my Goddess-” Elain launched off her stool and emptied the contents of her stomach into a large bowl nearby.

Feyre curled into herself, Nesta jumped to her feet.

“What do we do?” Feyre’s voice cracked. “You said he was gone, you said he was dead, we killed him, we buried him, oh my Goddess, oh Goddess,” Feyre buried her face in her hands.

Nesta paced, watching her sisters, mind whirling. Her gaze fixed on the wooden box, tucked away, and saw it shudder, as if to say, _I am here. I am yours. If only you dare to try again._

No. She wouldn’t. She’d sworn never to use magic, when she’d left her aunts behind, she’d tried to leave the piece of her behind that craved the rush of it, the hum in her veins, the terrifying and thrilling feel of power. She’d chosen to leave it behind. After everything that had gone wrong.

_If you dare,_ the box twitched again. _All I possess is yours. I am here._

Nesta looked back at her sisters, Feyre weeping, Elain still stunned.

“We’re Archeron witches,” she said quietly. “We can handle this. Without the aunts. We’ll have to.”

Feyre shook her head, shoulders shaking. Elain took a swig of her coffee and sat down, heavily. “I don’t know, Nesta,” she said, also quiet. “I saw terrible things.”

“We can’t find the aunts, fine,” Nesta said. “They’ve taught us all we know. We have their notes, the grimoire. We started this, and we’re going to finish it.” She looked at Feyre. “He’s not going to get near you. He can’t touch you, I don’t care whatever the hell he is.”

Before she lost her nerve, before she could change her mind, Nesta knelt and dragged the wooden box out from its hiding place and plunked it onto the table. The wood was old, carved from one of the oak trees that had grown on Archeron soil for more than two hundred years. A heavy lock held it shut.

“We warded the house,” Elain said. “We’ll have to try something stronger. I don’t understand how he got through.” She wrapped an arm around Feyre’s shoulders. “We’ll double them up tonight.”

“We’ll do better than that,” Nesta muttered, finding Amren’s athame where she always left it, on the windowsill, to bathe in sun and moon light. She pressed her fingertip to the blade, wincing at the sting, and reached for the heavy iron lock on the box. It glowed a dark blue at the touch of her Archeron blood and sprung open. “We’ll banish the bastard.”

Nesta propped her fists on her hands, and stared down at the dusty, thick book within. It had been passed down by the Archeron witches for generations, each new owner adding her own notes and spells and recipes, until the book had to be rebound in leather etched in runes and blood magic, similarly locked shut against thieves and those who would steal Archeron secrets.

Feyre took shuddering breaths. “Is there one powerful enough in there?”

“There has to be,” Elain said. They watched Nesta set the book in its wooden cradle, ready and waiting on the counter by the window, where Mor had always kept it.

Nesta extended the athame to Elain. Elain and Feyre took turns pricking their fingers. As one, the three sisters pressed their fingertips to the cover, and the book flipped itself open. Dust flew everywhere. The sisters inhaled the familiar smell of parchment and rosemary.

“This ends tonight,” Nesta said. “We should have buried him face-down.”

“We should have burned his body,” Elain said. “Just to be safe.”

“Well,” Nesta flicked through the pages. “We’ll have to try something else.”

“Will this work?” Feyre asked, once again the scared, ghostly Feyre whom they’d rescue a week ago.

“It has to,” Nesta said. “Or I’ll go back to L.A. and stake him myself so he stays down.”

That almost earned her a smile, and Nesta clasped Feyre’s wrist gently. “We do this together,” Nesta said. “We can handle this.”

Elain shook her head. “I hope you’re right. What I Saw…”

‘We tackle that next,” Nesta said. “One thing at a time. Together.” The fierceness in her eyes settled something in Feyre, and with Elain’s gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder, she began to feel something suspiciously like hope. Warm, like in her dream, under the gaze of violet eyes.

***

The afternoon was a flurry of activity. Elain went to town to gather the ingredients they didn’t immediately have on-hand, Feyre to prepare the altar in the backyard, and Nesta to begin the prep work on the spell. Feyre had gone tentatively into the backyard, looking occasionally over her shoulder as she cleared brush from the altar. Nesta waved from the bank of windows to show her she was not alone.

Nesta herself was uneasy. The smell, the touch, the colors of the grimoire were heartbreakingly familiar. She remembered sitting with Mor and Amren for hours, practicing spells, charms, potions. Reading the words of her ancestors over and over again, as if she could take them with her when she tucked the witch away and went back to her normal life, at home. The memories were sharp as the athame she’d used to slice her skin open.

Underneath a pile of receipts and wrappers, Nesta found Mor’s ledger, listing each and every service she’d provided to the townspeople throughout the years. As a child, she’d begged to help her aunts make charms and potions for uneasy townsfolk who would come to their doorstep in the middle of the night, a desperate look in their eyes. Mor would shoo the sisters upstairs before sitting the customer at the kitchen table for a cup of tea, while Amren fetched the grimoire, which she protected the way a dragon defended its hard. The girls were not allowed to touch it until they’d turned thirteen. Amren would sit quietly and flip through, while the customer poured out their woes to sympathetic Morrigan, and blinked steadily as they asked the aunts to help them dabble in things they barely understood.

She recalled one such night when she was twelve, the night where she’d learned witchcraft was not all love spells and lighting candles and chanting by moonlight. Sometimes it was brutal and cruel and vicious, and her aunts did it all the same...

_A frantic disheveled woman appeared on their doorstep fifteen minutes before midnight, and the girls, shooed upstairs by Mor, were perched at the top of the stairs to eavesdrop._

_“Can we help you, dear?” Mor asked. Nesta heard footsteps and the kitchen chairs being pulled out._

_“I… I heard you can help with bad luck, and love lives.”_

_“We can,” Mor replied. “But that doesn’t mean we should. Love, especially, is a slippery thing.”_

_“Please,” a broken whisper. “I just want… I want…”_

_“Spit it out,” Nesta heard Amren’s voice, loud and irritated._

_“It’s my brother in law,” the woman whispered again. Nesta crept down a few more stairs, so she could just see into the kitchen. The outline of a woman, slumped, dejected, sat between Mor and Amren. “I’ve been in love with him from the start. I was stupid and let him go and he married my sister instead.”_

_“Ah, you want him dead then,” Amren said._

_“No! No. I want him for myself.”_

_“Ah, so you want your_ sister _dead,” Amren continued, barely suppressing a cackle. Nesta snickered._

_“Amren,” Mor murmured. Nesta saw Mor’s golden head shake at her dark haired sister._

_“No,” the woman said again. “I want him to leave her for me. I want him to love me, to need me, so much it hurts. So much he’ll die without me.”_

_The woman’s voice was so hollow, so desperate, and it scared Nesta, because she knew that tone. The woman sounded like she wanted something so bad, she was afraid it would consume her if she didn’t get it, and she was afraid it would destroy her if she did._

_Nesta knew it because sometimes, she heard it in her own voice. When she and her sisters would dream about the kind of men they’d marry, how they’d escape the Archeron curse, how they’d get their happily ever after. She felt an ache in her chest, so strong, she feared it would break her open._

_“I can’t wait to fall in love,” Feyre murmured, and Elain nodded. Nesta pressed her lips together._

_“We can do that,” Amren said._

_“Amren-”_

_“We can do that,” Amren continued, ignoring Mor, “if you understand what this means. You cannot go back. He will be bound to you forever, whether it’s against his will or not. You will ruin your sister’s life. You will cause a great deal of pain to ease your own. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes, and I don’t care,” the woman, Nesta could now see, had wild eyes. Unfocused, unblinking, bloodshot, she stared at the aunts. “I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. Just as long as I can have him.”_

_“Very well,” Mor said. Nesta knew that tone, it was her Resigned and Disappointed one. Nesta dreaded ever hearing it. “Hold this.” A flutter of something, a scuffle._

_At Feyre’s urging, the sisters crept closer. Nesta peered around the corner of the stairs to see Mor hand one of their doves to the woman, and a long, sharp needle._

_“As you wish, by the sun and moon, so below as above, let this woman win his love,” Amren and Mor whispered in unison._

_Feyre, Elain, and Nesta watched in horror as the woman plunged a long, sharp needle into the dove’s heart and its blood splattered all across her face._ I hope I never fall in love, _Nesta thought, as the woman held the slain bird, illuminated and shadowed by candlelight, and clutched a photograph in her other hand, wearing a triumphant smile._

***

For a town that hated all things supernatural, Elain was pleasantly surprised to find a well-stocked and thriving spice and herb shop. Fennel, devil’s claw, rue, nettle, thistle, parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme - all there. She didn’t recognize anyone she saw inside, and shopped quickly to keep it that way. Although the aunts had left behind much of their supplies, things still went bad, and the banishing spell would need some extra touches.

Elain loved working with herbs and plants. When she was a child, she’d found the greatest joy in foraging in the forest around the Archeron house, digging up roots with Amren in silence. She found hidden treasures like irish moss and yarrow, calendulas and poppies with ease, calling them from the ground as easily as breathing. When Elain hummed, shoots would spring forth wherever she was, and when she sang outright, whole saplings would grow.

She’d missed it, in her time away. New York City had felt smothering, choking her magic until she’d had to escape to Central Park every Saturday, just so she could pretend she was surrounded by plants instead of concrete and steel. Now that they were back, she felt she could finally breathe again.

The town square was quiet, almost sleepy, but then again, it was Sunday, and tourist season had long passed. The weather no longer permitted trips to the coast to go sailing or soak up the sun or bathe in the salty water of the Atlantic ocean. Their mother had loved the sea, and so did Nesta. Elain had never remembered seeing her sister so happy.

While the skies had yet to open up, a drizzle was just beginning to settle, and Elain hurried down the street, determined to make it home before dusk. The ground was already growing slick, and Elain teetered off balance, slamming into someone as they passed by.

Elain nearly tumbled to the ground when hands wrapped around her upper arms and held her firmly upright, until she found her footing.

“I am _so_ sorry-” Elain said, looking up and locked eyes with a tall, handsome man. His dark eyes seemed to carry the weight of something extraordinarily heavy. Sad eyes. A tall, handsome man with sad eyes. She tried not to curse. _No fucking way._

“Elain!” A familiar voice behind them called, and she whirled to see Rhys, the bartender from the previous night grinning at them. Beside him, was the sheriff that had upset Nesta. “Are you alright?”

She found her voice just in time. “Fine,” she cleared her throat. “I’m great. I, ah, thank you,” she said to the man with the soulful eyes, who still held her shoulders. “I’m so sorry about that.”

He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown either. Rather, his eyes seemed to soften. “No problem,” his voice was like gravel and smooth whisky. _Oh Goddess,_ Elain nearly bit her tongue. _Keep it together, Elain._

“Elain,” Rhys had reached them. “These are my brothers, Azriel and Cassian. Guys, this is-”

“Elain Archeron,” the sheriff interrupted, extending his hand, and Azriel moved away. Elain suddenly felt colder when his hands slid away, and fought to keep from blushing. “I had the pleasure of meeting your sister. I’m sheriff Cassian Knight, but you can call me Cass.” He winked and shook her hand. “Your sister didn’t take too kindly to the offer.”

Elain snorted. “Nesta’s as friendly as a wet cat on a good day. Don’t take it personally.”

He grinned, and Elain liked him immediately. “I didn’t.” He jerked his head to the other man. “This is our brother, Azriel. He’s my deputy.”

Brothers indeed. Tall, dark and handsome with tanned skin, thick black hair, what separated Azriel from Rhys and Cassian was a melancholy air about him that most women probably couldn’t resist. Elain snorted to herself. Most men would have wielded it like a weapon, using it to entice and snare women with a glance, a wink. But Azriel… it was more than that. It was real pain, not a trick to earn women’s attention.

He raised his hand to shake hers, and she blinked at the scars that twisted over each other. On his palms, the backs of his hands, his fingers, scars snaked their way; some small and nearly invisible, some thick and ropelike. She thought of how gently they had caught her, and smiled at him, meeting his hand with hers. “It’s nice to meet you,” she murmured.

This time, the corner of his mouth drew upwards. She counted it as a victory. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said, in his velvet and gravel voice.

_I’m in trouble,_ Elain thought. _But maybe it’s the good kind._

“Glad to have met another Archeron sister,” Cassian continued. “Have you settled in? No trouble at night, no one’s bothered you?”

_If only you knew._ Elain shrugged and pasted on a smile. “Oh, you know. Nothing new. We’re fine.” She smiled a genuine one at Rhys. “Thanks again for dinner last night. We’ll come in another night and pay.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhys breezed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “By the way, is your sister alright? Feyre?” He said her name like a song, like it was a secret he’d always wanted to know.

“She’s fine,” Elain assured him, clutching the handles of her bag closer. Daylight was waning, and there was still so much to do before nightfall. “We’re all fine, thanks.”

The sheriff, she saw, was watching her, arms crossed. His eyes, she noted, were warm brown, sparking with intellect, shrewdness, intensity. Fiery. Fiery eyes. And Rhys, his violet eyes, shining like the night sky. Eyes like night. _Oh Goddess._

Elain shuddered as her vision swam, everything suddenly going white. A vision, a vision right here, in front of mortals, no, oh no, nonono, she couldn’t, not now - 

_Three men, her sisters, a battle, a triumph, stone breaking, eyes crying, a moonlit kiss, roses blooming, warm campfires… laughter. Joy. Hands holding hands. A family._

Elain opened her eyes and found herself on her back on the wet pavement. The chill of the cement seeped through her jeans and she shivered.

“Elain,” a voice above her murmured, and she realized her head was in someone’s lap. Azriel peered down at her. “Elain, can you hear me?”

_Unfortunately, yes._

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”  
The corner of his mouth turned up again. “You keep saying that.”

“Elain, can you sit up?” Cassian and Rhys crouched beside her. “You fainted.”

_Damn visions_. She eased herself up, Az supporting her shoulders until she was cross-legged on the ground. “I’m fine,” she waved them off. “I ah, get fainting spells sometimes. It’s really no big deal. Runs in the family.” She found her shopping bags and made to stand. Azriel cupped her elbow and helped her up. “Thanks so much. So sorry about that.”

Cassian tilted his head. “Do you want a ride back to the house?”

“No!” Elain fought to hide her alarm. The last thing she and her sisters needed was for the sheriff and his deputy to roll up, mid-preparations for a banishing spell. Or to show up, in the middle of _any_ spell, really. Maybe Nesta did have a point about him.

“That won’t be necessary,” Elain waved him off and started walking backwards down the street. “I really need to get back to my sisters. Thanks again!”

The brothers watched her go, and she gave them all one last smile before turning and hurrying away. Rhys waved. Cassian stood, arms crossed, skeptical. Azriel, she felt his gaze even when she turned, and fought to walk at a regular pace. Her visions danced in her mind again, and she shoved them away. _Not now. Not until we get rid of Tamlin. But his eyes… his sad, sad eyes._

Cassian watched her go. “She’s lying too,” he said. “She’s definitely not fine. Whatever that was, that wasn’t a fainting spell. None of those sisters are fine.”

“You should have seen the other sister,” Rhys said. “They came in last night, didn’t talk to anyone, kept to themselves. She looked ready to bolt, even as they ate. She had this bruise,” he traced the outline down the side of his face and cheekbone, “it was fresh. They all had fresh wounds.”

Azriel watched the pretty brassy-haired girl disappear into her car and drive away. “Did you see her eyes? Right before she fell?”

“I did but I don’t believe it,” Rhys said. “What the hell was that?”

Cassian shook his head. “Something’s not right with them. The oldest sister lied to me too, when I went to see them. They don’t know where their aunts are. And they didn’t come to visit them.”

“They’re in trouble,” Azriel guessed. “Serious shit.” He and his brothers all looked at each other.

“I don’t think they’d appreciate any help, especially not the eldest,” Rhys said. “She about bit my head off last night.”

“She tried to melt me on sight,” Cassian said, but Az and Rhys saw he was smiling. “I’ll head back over in a few days. See what I can get out of them.”

“I’ll come with,” Rhys said immediately. “Maybe they’ll talk to someone who’s not a cop.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You don’t think I can get them to talk?”

“I think you’re about as subtle as a bull in a china shop,” Rhys shot back. “And as ugly as one.”

Az snickered. “It sounded like you riled the eldest up, Cass. I’d like to see you go back and try again.”

“I’ll have Nesta Archeron spilling her guts within minutes,” Cassian said. “Just you wait.”

“Guts will be spilled,” Rhys muttered as they resumed walking. “But I guarantee they won’t be hers.”

Azriel snickered again, and thought about the middle Archeron sister, with the mysterious eyes, and wondered what secrets lie beneath the surface.

***

It was as if the sky had rent itself apart as the Archeron sisters gathered in the backyard that evening, around weather beaten altar made of carved stone. Like everything else in the Archeron house, it had been in the family for generations. Decades of nicks, stains, pocks, and scorch marks reminded them of past rituals, of past Archeron witches who had learned and honed their craft as they now did. Atop the altar was a small coal brazier with a flame that spluttered in the elements, a mortar and pestle, and an athame. All the sisters shifted from foot to foot to keep warm.

“Do you have the hair?” Nesta asked Feyre, who tugged her raincoat close and dug a ziplock bag out of her pocket. Blonde hair glinted in the firelight.

“This better work,” Feyre mumbled, shivering. The shadows beneath her eyes were pronounced, moreso in the darkness. Blue gray eyes peered out from shadowed hollows. “And I’ll have to air out all my goddess-damned clothes. He shed more hair than I did. It’s still fucking everywhere.”

“I have a spell for that,” Elain mumbled, crushing devil’s claw, rue, and salt in the mortar and pestle as Nesta flicked through the grimoire, now shoved into a gallon ziplock bag to protect it from the rain. “I’ll show you later.”

“Okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, handing her the athame, the silver blade glinting in the darkness. “It’ll need some blood.”

“Everything needs blood,” Feyre grumbled, slicing her palm and making a fist. Nesta watched blood drip down her sister’s knuckles into the mortar Elain held below, and added Tamlin’s hair. “What’s the spell?”

“Salt protect me,” Nesta read, and Elain repeated it, while grinding clockwise. “Rue be true. Blood to bind thee, and devil’s claw, to be rid of you.”

Elain finished and handed Feyre the mortar. “Into the fire.”

The fire hissed when Feyre dumped the contents into it, but glowed brighter, firmer. The sisters joined hands, cold fingers clutching each others’ as rain dripped down the backs of their necks and rain in rivulets down their arms. “Okay, Feyre,” Nesta spread the grimoire out on the altar before linking hands again. “You can do it. Set the intention.”

“Tamlin Rose,” Feyre whispered, teeth chattering. She cleared her throat and spoke again, louder. “Tamlin Rose. I banish you from my home and my heart. I banish you from my thoughts. I banish you from my dreams.”

“Now together,” Nesta murmured, leading her sisters into the chant. “Blood and fire and water and light, mighty Hectate will make this right. Banish this spirit from this night, and shield us all from his blight.”

“Sisters three we always be,” Elain finished. “We bind this spell and so mote it be.”

The brazier flared, reaching for the night sky, building until the flames towered over the sisters and chased away the darkness. The heat misted the rain on the sisters’ coats and faces and hair until they were dry as bone, even in the middle of the storm.

And as suddenly as it flared, it faded, returning to smoldering coals, the faint scent of burnt hair all that remained.

“Did it work?” Feyre asked.

Elain shrugged,staring at the charred remains of the spell. “We won’t know until you go to bed. Do you feel… different?”

Feyre shrugged.

“It may be too soon to tell,” Nesta dropped her sisters’ hands, breaking the circle, to tuck the grimoire back under her coat. She missed her sisters’ hands in hers the instant she let go. “Let’s go back inside. We can get this later.”

“You can sleep in my room,” Elain offered as they trudged back to the house. “Just in case.”

Feyre smiled at her, already lighter than hours before. “As long as I get the left side.”

“That’s my side and you know it,” Elain teased, and Nesta smiled to herself. The magic humming in her veins was familiar and terrifying. She’d missed the thrill of spellwork. She’d missed tapping into her power. She’d missed how her magic twined with her sisters’, a silent symphony of power and joy.

***

A witch smiled to herself as she watched the house from far away, her astral form standing just beyond the treeline to the property. The house’s wards had gotten stronger. But it was no matter. She’d soon have what she wanted, whether the sisters thought they could protect themselves or not.

She thought she’d wanted just Feyre’s head on a plate, and the girl’s power stolen and run through her veins. But when she’d found out Feyre Archeron was one of a set… She’d still possess Feyre Archeron’s magic, but it would be accompanied with that of her sisters’ as well. Archeron magic, threefold.

She sized up each of the other sisters as they disappeared into the house. The eldest was impressive, confident. The middle, skilled and clever. Feyre, from what she knew, was filled with raw power, unstoppable. Unrelenting. The combination of the sisters’ magic would be… unlike anything she’d ever come across. She craved it. She could feel it in the air, electric, taunting her.

“I’ll be back for the Archeron sisters,” she whispered into the darkness. “And I’ll bleed them dry, until there’s nothing left.”

  
  



	5. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was looking up to be hot garbage and then it finally kicked off. I also really want to say thank you to all my lovely reviewers, your feedback keeps me going. It's so kind of you to take the time to leave me comments, thank you! And thanks for all the kudos and love. You guys rock.
> 
> Also, Nesta may or may not be into motorcycles because I myself am very into bikers. Will neither confirm nor deny, but I can tell you Nesta has seen Sons of Anarchy at least twice. Also, a Nesta/Azriel bromance? I totally see it. Also, the love spell was inspired by Practical Magic (what a great scene, right?)
> 
> This chapter turned out to be twice as long as I anticipated; I debated cutting it, but decided to keep everything in. My college Creative Writing professor would be weeping in despair but he’s not here *laughs maniacally*
> 
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -You’ll be Mine, the Pierces  
> -I Put a Spell on You, Annie Lennox  
> -Heart of Stone, Cher  
> -Miss Bottom of the Hill, Iron & Wine  
> -If I Had a Heart, Fever Ray  
> -L.A. Devotee, Panic! At the Disco  
> -Friend of the Devil, The Grateful Dead (Mumford & Sons version)

_Got two reasons why I cry, away each lonely night_  
_The first one's named sweet Anne Marie, and she's my heart's delight_  
_Second one is prison, baby, the sheriff's on my tail_  
_And if he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail_

_-Friend of the Devil, the Grateful Dead (Mumford & Sons cover)_

_And like your body bein' dragged behind the moon_  
_You bring a memory of your mother like the money in your shoe_  
_And how her penetratin' wisdom, her bulletproof religion_  
_Always rip you like a wool off of the loom_

_-Miss Bottom of the Hill, Iron & Wine_

_If I had a heart, I could love you, if I had a voice, I would sing_

_-If I Had a Heart, Fever Ray_

_Don't you sometimes_  
_Wish your heart was a heart of stone_  
_Mercy, mercy, wish your heart was a heart of stone_

_-Heart of Stone, Cher_

“I want to celebrate Samhain,” Feyre said over breakfast, four days after the banishing spell. “I haven’t celebrated in ages. I know we talked about it, but I want to do it.” She glanced outside, at the sunny, crisp morning. “We passed Mabon already. I don’t want to let Samhain go by too.”

Nesta leaned back in her chair and studied her sister. Feyre broke out of her shell a little more each day. It was as if the rainstorm that night had washed away the new, scared Feyre and the old one blossomed in her place.

Elain beamed. “Thank Goddess! I missed that, so much.” She snickered. “Remember that one year when the aunts took us to the coven? And Nesta got too drunk on lilac wine and danced naked-”

“Elain!” Nesta cut her off while Feyre cackled. “I was _twelve_! And the aunts were wrong to bring us. We were entirely too young.”

“You had a good time, admit it,” Feyre said. “And if I remember right, the next year you took your clothes off without the wine.”

Elain laughed while Nesta shoved her chair back, face red. “Whatever,” she muttered, clattering her bowl into the kitchen’s large farm sink. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Nesta,” Elain rolled her eyes. “Don’t be grumpy. We _all_ took our clothes off that year anyways.”

“I _definitely_ had lilac wine that year,” Feyre said. “And the aunts didn’t give two shits and I had a great time.”

“Another reason why they were hardly model guardians,” Nesta muttered. She hesitated before the back door. “Do you want to, um, come with me?”

Even after the past few weeks, Feyre still felt like a stranger to her. The way she held herself was different, shoulders curving inwards, arms always crossed protectively; a leftover from Tamlin. Or, maybe Nesta had just never noticed. Feyre’s smile, at least, was familiar, and she saw it more each passing day.

Nesta wondered when they were going to start fighting again. They had always fought more than they laughed, and Elain was always in the middle of it.

“That’s a great idea! Let’s go.” Elain pushed back her chair and waved her hand at the table. “Pepper and temper, candle and cress, clean up Nesta’s breakfast mess!” The dishes jumped, China rattling, and floated to the sink. The faucet began running of its own accord.

Nesta glared. “Haha, very funny.” She gestured to the ancient dishwasher. “What do you think this is for?”

“For grumpy sisters who don’t like magic,” Elain said. “Did you sleep well? You’re acting a little… edgy this morning.”

Nesta had in fact, not slept well. She had tossed and turned, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, they were still being watched. And when she dreamed, she dreamt of cold hands grabbing at her skirts. And worse, fiery eyes and different, gentler hands.

She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “I’m fine. Sorry.” She exhaled. “Still jumpy. Whatever. Let’s go.”

As children, they had been encouraged to roam, exploring the trees and trails. The aunts had never warned them about going too far. The sun or moon always glowed as a beacon, to beckon them home. The weather vane atop the house, shaped like a broomstick, was visible even in the thick of the forest.

The forest still teemed with life even so close to winter. A flock of geese cut through the sky, heading south. Squirrels still foraged for nuts. Despite the dry, crunchy leaves that had already fallen to the ground, their footsteps were silent. They knew how to walk without disturbing those around them.

Even now, in the middle of autumn, the grass grew greener under Elain’s feet. Trees bowed their branches when she walked underneath. Leaves flourished when she passed by, and turned back to brown when she was gone.

“I missed it here,” Elain said. Her voice was quiet. “I missed this forest most of all.” She felt her power flicker and warm as they followed their familiar worn path. It was as if she could hear everything; the flowers, soon to be sleeping underground, the fallen leaves, the grass. _You’ve come back,_ she heard their whispers in each shake of the leaves in the wind. _You’re come back to us_. She remembered nearly every rock and twig, each patch of moss, each bush. Where to step and where to avoid. The den of foxes she’d come upon as a child. The tree that housed a nest of crows that returned, every year, without fail. The best place to find mushrooms, or herbs for spells.

Nesta and Feyre too felt at home in the forest, but only Elain knew all its secrets.

“Can you still make flowers bloom?” Feyre asked.

Elain grinned. “I haven’t tried in ages.” She crouched before a sparse rosebush, blossoms long gone. Elain placed her palms against the roots, and hummed. Softly, and then louder. Green buds crept across the twigs, leaves grew. When Elain switched to singing clear bell-like notes, they swelled and burst into bright red roses. The stems were smooth, unmarred by thorns.

Feyre clapped. “Impressive.”

Elain shrugged, plucking one and tucking it behind her ear. “It feels good. My magic likes to be used.”

“Mine too,” Feyre said. She shoved her hands in her pockets. “That’s why I really want to do something for Samhain. I like feeling… powerful again.”

“You always were,” Elain said. “Magic or no magic.” She looked at Nesta. “Didn’t it feel good? To use it?”

Nesta huffed. It _had_. It all had, rushing back through her, lighting her up from the inside out. She’d forgotten how much she needed it. “It did.” She’d forgotten how much it scared her too.

“Why didn’t you practice when you were away?” Feyre asked, not seeing how Nesta’s shoulders tightened. “Nesta, you were the best of us. Even after-”

“I’m getting hungry,” Elain interrupted. Peacemaker once again, the wall between her and Feyre. She handed her sisters roses. “And I know Nesta’s hangry. I can tell. I think it’s lunchtime.”

Feyre tipped her head back to see the sun had passed noon. “Goddess, we’ve been out here for two hours.” They turned and made their way back with ease, the broomstick weathervane to guide their way.

When they exited the clearing, Nesta’s blood ran hot and then cold. A cop car was parked near the back driveway, once again. Two figures were sitting in their aunts’ rocking chairs, overlooking the forest. One, a tall man with long hair and hazel eyes she’d never forget.

“I swear to Lillith,” Nesta murmured, storming forward. “It’s that damn sheriff.”

“Good day!” He stood when he saw Nesta head for the stairs. “Miss Archeron. It’s a pleasure.”

“This is private property, Sheriff,” Nesta spat. “What are you doing here?”

He grinned. “Came around to check on your sister,” he nodded to Elain. “She had a spill a few days ago in town.”

Feyre stopped short when she saw Rhys sitting in the other rocking chair, and Nesta watched her cheeks redden.

“Nice to see you again,” Rhys stood and descended the stairs towards her, hand out. “You look... better than last time.”

Feyre took his hand gingerly. “I, ah, yes. Yes, I have been.” She resisted the urge to touch her eye, the bruise almost completely gone.

“What’s this about a fall?” Nesta whirled on Elain, ignoring Cassian. “What is he talking about?”

Elain bit her lip. “I forgot to tell you. I had one of my… episodes in town. Sheriff Knight’s other brother helped me out.”

“Another brother?” _Goddess help us, there’s_ three _of them?_

“Also my deputy,” Cassian cut in. “Azriel. I believe you’ve met our other brother, Rhys.”

Rhys extended his hand to Nesta. She looked as though he’d presented her with a dead animal, and he turned to Elain.

“Are you feeling alright?” 

Elain waved Rhys off. “I’m fine. It runs in the family.”

“Unfortunately, it does.” Nesta said, crossing her arms. “Nice of you to stop by and check on her, but we’re about to have lunch, and-”

“Great, I’m starved,” Cassian turned to head up the stairs. “What’s for lunch?”

Nesta saw red. “What the hell do you mean?”

Cassian laughed and leaned against the railing. “Kidding, sweetheart. I’ve got better manners than that.”

“Barely,” Rhys whispered to Feyre, and Feyre snorted.

“Sorry to interrupt your day, ladies,” Cassian continued. “Miss Elain took quite the fall, and we wanted to come by and make sure you all were okay. It’s a long way from town if you need medical attention.”

“We’re fine,” Nesta grit her teeth. “We don’t need anything.”

“In case you do,” Cassian dug in his pocket and handed Nesta his business card. “Since you haven’t called the station for anything. You can reach me at all hours now.” He winked at her. “Whatever you need.”

Elain waded in. “That is _so_ nice of you,” she gushed, snatching the business card before Nesta could shred it. “I’m fine. Honestly. No worries.”

Cassian nodded, hands on hips, but snapped as if just remembering something. “It was the damndest thing,” he said. “When you fell, I could have sworn… your eyes…” he chuckled, and Elain fought to keep her face blank. “It was almost like they turned pure white.”

“Must have rolled up into my head,” Elain said, and felt Nesta’s hand clench around her wrist. “I’m, ah, epileptic. No big deal.”

“Are you done with asking insanely rude questions?” Nesta snapped.

Rhys’s shoulders were shaking from suppressed laughter. “What my brother means,” he slapped Cassian on the back, “he wanted to make sure Miss Elain didn’t need any emergency medical services, since you’re so out of the way.”

“Not necessary,” Elain said. “We’ve got plenty of things here. Just in case.”

Cassian tilted his head. “That’s right, your aunts had quite the reputation as healers in town.”

“They taught us all they knew,” Feyre said, fake-cheerfully. “They’re the best around.”

Cassian peered at the house. “They’re still on vacation I take it?”

“Yep,” Feyre said. “Still traveling.”

“Where did you say they went, again?” Cassian asked Nesta. “I’m sure they’d rather be home with their nieces.”

“They’re busy women who don’t like to be bothered,” Nesta snapped. “As are we.”

“You’re right, we’re sorry for taking up so much of your time, ladies,” Rhys said, nudging Cassian. “We’ll leave you to the rest of your day in peace.”

“Miss Nesta, a pleasure,” Cassian winked, and Nesta grit her teeth.

“Thanks for stopping by,” Elain said. “See you around.”

“Elain, Nesta,” Rhys nodded to them. “Feyre,” he extended his hand again. “Nice to see you again. I hope we run into each other again.”

When Feyre smiled at him, her first full smile in a long time, Elain’s saw his face go soft.

“Why don’t you come to _Velaris_?” Rhys said. “Lunch is on me. You’re all prettier than the usual clientele.”

“No,” Nesta said, grabbing Feyre and Elain’s arms, practically dragging them up the stairs. “We’ve got plans all day. Thanks. Goodbye.”

***

Cassian and Rhys watched Nesta herd her sisters inside, the back door slamming, rattling in its frame.

“Real smooth,” Cassian said. “You scared them off.”

“Me?” Rhys said, incredulous, as they trudged back to the car. “You might as well have asked if they’d chopped up their aunts and hidden them in the basement. Subtle my ass.”

“The aunts aren’t here,” Cassian said as they headed for town. “They don’t know _where_ they are at all. And Elain doesn’t have epilepsy.”  
Rhys snorted. “No, not unless one of the symptoms is radioactive eyeballs. And who cares? They’re not trespassing. Elain seems fine. Maybe you should leave them alone. Nesta might chop _you_ up if you don’t.”

“There’s something about them,” Cassian mused. “I can’t put my finger on it. But they’ve got this… quality.”

“If you mean pretty blue eyes, then yeah,” Rhy said, and his thoughts flickered briefly to Feyre. 

“Nesta doesn’t take any shit,” Cassian said, admiration plain in his voice. “But something doesn’t add up. The lies, the injuries. You told me Feyre was skittish as a cat last time you saw them. Elain’s eyes, Nesta’s attitude, this weird feeling I get…” he shook his head.

They didn’t say anything the rest of the way back to the station, but each brother’s thoughts were occupied by blue eyes and brassy hair.

Azriel was waiting for them in the lobby. The police station hadn’t been updated in years; faded wood paneling, stained, oatmeal-colored carpeting now turning brown, the same set of dusty plastic chairs that had been there for decades. Crime did not abound in this area of Salem. Except for Halloween. That was always, predictably, a mess.

“Someone’s here for you,” he jerked his head at Cassian’s office. “Says it’s about the Archerons.”

“What is it with these girls?” Cassian muttered, shouldering past his brother into his office.

Sitting behind his large oak desk, piled high with files and books and trash, was a man in a dark suit. He had gleaming red hair pulled back at the nape of his neck, and striking eyes.

“Sheriff Knight,” He stood, and extended his hand. “Investigator Lucien Vanserra.”

Cassian shook his hand and gestured to the folding seat in front of his desk, ushering the investigator away from his chair. No one sat in Cassian’s chair. It was as old as the rest of the police station, the leather was worn just on the right side of comfortable, and still swiveled without a sound. It was one of Cassian’s favorite parts of his job.

Investigator Vanserra cooly refused the seat and remained standing.

“What can I do for you, investigator?”

The man’s eyes were an unnatural shade of russet, almost mottled gold. “What do you know about the Archeron sisters?”

“Not much,” Cassian said. He leaned back in his chair, casual, but alert. “I know they grew up with their aunts. They left before I got here.”

“And now, they’re back,” the investigator finished. He tossed a file on the desk. “Sheriff, I’ll be frank. I have reason to believe one or all of them might be involved in the disappearance of a man in L.A.”

Cassian flipped the folder open. Inside, were several photographs. One, of a blonde man, classically handsome, with a sharp jawline and striking green eyes. The others were of each of the Archeron sisters. The photos didn’t appear to be recent. One of Feyre, again with haunted eyes, another bruise. Nesta, with shorter hair. Elain, face younger, fuller.

“Tamlin Rose, reported missing three weeks ago. Lived in Beverly Hills, with his girlfriend, a Miss Feyre Archeron. Last seen together in a motel just outside of L.A. The motel room was left in shambles. We have eyewitness reports of Miss Archeron and her sisters the following week in Nebraska, Colorado, Illinois, Ohio, New York, and finally, Massachusetts.”

Cassian stared at the photos of a dirty, wrecked motel room. Broken furniture, bed unmade, stained with what looked like blood.

“We have reason to believe Rose is dead.” Investigator Vanserra crossed his arms. “I’m here to speak to the Archeron sisters.”

Cassian studied the photographs again. “What makes you think they had anything to do with his disappearance?” 

“They were the last people to have seen him alive,” the investigator said. “I’m here to find out what happened in that motel room, where Mr. Rose is if he didn’t come with them to Massachusetts, and why.”

“I have a pretty good idea,” Cassian said, holding up the photograph of Feyre. A different bruise marred her cheekbone. “Does this look like a woman who has a happy life?”

The investigator pursed his lips. “We’re trying to put all the pieces together still.”

“It’s hardly rocket science,” Cassian said. “That bruise looks like more than enough reason.”

Investigator Vanserra dug in his pocket and handed Cassian a black business card embossed in silver. “Call me if you get any information. I’d also like to know how to find them.”

Something about the investigator rankled Cassian. He wasn’t lying, that much he could tell. But he wasn’t telling the whole truth. And Cassian didn’t want him going up to the sisters’ house unannounced.

“I’ll give them a call, have them come to the station,” Cassian said. “From what I know, they’re… quiet. Friendly.” _Mostly_. “Their aunts still live in the area, so the sisters are here to visit.” _Supposedly._

“I’d like to meet with them as soon as possible,” Investigator Vanserra said. “Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Cassian stood, and extended his hand, indicating the conversation was over. “Investigator.”

When Cassian shook his hand, he noticed one of his eyes wasn’t like the other. Where his right eye was a strange shade of russet, the other one was a false eye, made of gold. It gleamed in the dim lighting of Cassian’s office, and Cassian had the strangest feeling that eye saw everything.

“I appreciate your cooperation, Sheriff,” the investigator said. His smile set Cassian on edge. “I look forward to meeting the Archeron sisters.” Then, he and his mysterious eye were gone.

Azriel was hovering outside the door, and watched him leave. “Who the hell was that?”

“Not sure,” Cassian said. “But I don’t have a good feeling about him.”

***

Dusk was setting when Feyre put down her paintbrush. She’d found her old paint and easel set in the attic the other day, and after some encouragement from Elain, had set it up on the porch. She’d been painting for the better half of the afternoon, until the light had begun to fade and her stomach grumbled. She’d forgotten how much she loved to paint; she lost herself in the colors, the lines.

Her painting was dark, but then again, she’d been feeling dark for a long time. It was nice to finally have someplace to put the darkness, especially now when she didn’t have to carry it anymore.

When she entered the kitchen, she found Nesta hunched over the stove, grumbling to herself.

“Stir counter-clockwise three times…” Nesta muttered, glancing at the grimoire propped open on the kitchen counter, next to a cauldron that simmered with something other than soup.

“What are you doing?”

“She’s trying to make a banishing charm to use on the hot sheriff,” Elain said. She lounged at the kitchen table, organizing herbs into jars.

“He’s too nosy for his own good,” Nesta muttered. “And he’s _not hot.”_

Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Maybe not, but his brother...” She remembered violet eyes, and felt a rush of warmth.

“And the other one,” Elain chimed in. “He’s gorgeous.”

“That’s it,” Nesta said, adding rosemary and witch hazel to the cauldron. “Enough. The last thing we need is mortal men poking their noses where they don’t belong. The sheriff,” she glared at her sisters, “asks too many questions.”

Feyre sighed. “He just seems suspicious about the aunts, and maybe a little concerned about us being alone. We haven’t said or done _anything_ for him to think there’s more to the story.”

“And they did see me have a vision the other day,” Elain sighed. “I ran off pretty quick. They probably came to make sure I didn’t accidentally drive off a cliff or something.”

“Yes, _so_ nice of you to mention _that,_ ” Nesta snapped. “Thanks for the heads up. Elain, what the hell? They saw you, and you didn’t tell us? What if you’d had a full-on prophecy?”

“It was fine,” Elain waved her off. “We had to get ready for the banishing spell. And I’m pretty sure they thought it was a seizure. But the vision I had. They were in it. All of us were in it.”

“Great,” Nesta muttered, stirring counter-clockwise again. “Just what we need. A future with a boorish sheriff and his smooth-talking brothers.”

“You haven’t met the deputy,” Elain said. “He’s sweet. Quiet. Gentle.” She sighed. “Handsome.”

“He sounds like a goddess-damned Disney prince,” Nesta snapped. “I don’t c _are_ how handsome they are. No more hot cops. End of conversation.”

“They’re harmless,” Elain said. “I have a good feeling. Trust me.”

Nesta snorted. “A good feeling, when has that ever panned out for an Archeron witch? Especially about a man. Look where _that’s_ gotten us.”

“Nesta,” Elain said.

“It’s not like we do it on _purpose_ ,” Feyre snapped. “What are you implying?”

“Men are trouble, they always have been and will always be, to the detriment of Archeron witches,” Nesta said, measuring powdered nettle. “And I’m not implying anything, Feyre; it was the curse that happened, in the end. It’s always the curse. Nothing we can do about it.”

“Feeling _witchy_ today, Nesta?” Feyre retorted. “Or rather, _bitchy?”_

_Here we go,_ Elain thought. Things at least, were returning to normal.

“Guys,” Elain tried.

“You’ve been a huge pain all day.” Feyre put her hands on her hips and glared at her sister. “Can’t I just have one good day? Now that everything’s _sort of_ going back to normal? Who spat in your brew?”

“Two someones who clearly don’t understand the delicacy of our situation, if they’re willing to flirt with two boneheads with pretty eyes! One of which, is a cop! And don’t you talk to me about how I use _my_ magic.”

“Tamlin is dead, Nesta! We banished him. I’m finally fucking free, and I’m so sick of living my life looking over my shoulder like he’ll suddenly reappear!”

“Guys,” Elain said again.  
“No,” Nesta continued, still stirring. “But it’ll keep us safe, especially if nosy cops come around.”

“They’re just being nice!”

“Nice doesn’t mean much to women like us!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means we’ve got a family track record of whackjobs and drunks and cheats,” Nesta snapped. “You should know.” She regretted the words instantly. “Shit.”

Feyre laughed bitterly. “Right. I forgot, it’s _my_ fault. Everything’s my fault, thank you _so_ much for reminding me. Just like when we were kids!”

“ _Guys-_ ”

“Feyre,” Nesta backpedaled. “I-oh fuck, I shouldn’t have,”

Feyre was angrily storming towards the stairs. “Don’t even bother. Clearly you still hold me choosing him over you guys against me.”

“Feyre-”

The sound of glass shattering drew the sisters’ attention to Elain, who stood over what had been a glass pitcher she’d nudged off the table.

“Elain! Are you hurt?” Nesta rushed to examine her for cuts, but Elain waved her away.

“Now that I have your attention,” she said calmly, already fetching her broom to sweep up the shards of broken glass, “stop squabbling like magpies over a piece of shiny ribbon. There’s someone at the door.”

Sure enough, a knock sounded at the back door.

Feyre refused to look at Nesta as she brushed past her to answer it.

“Feyre!” Nesta shrieked, whisking the spellbook off the counter and hauling the cauldron into the deep enamel sink. “Do you _want_ to be exposed?”

Feyre didn’t reply as she opened the door.

“Sheriff Knight!” Elain practically shrieked, dumping the glass shards into the garbage. “What an unexpected surprise!”

“What brings you by?” Feyre asked. “Two visits in one day?”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. It was the first time Nesta had seen him out of uniform, and she hated to admit it, but he looked good. Worn jeans that fit well, hugging his long, muscular legs. White t-shirt stretched across his bulky frame. Leather jacket. Hair slightly windswept, hazel eyes shining. He was Nesta’s secret rough-edged biker boy dream, and she hated everything about it. _He’s_ not _hot_ , she thought angrily.

“Half social call, half not,” Cassian said. “Can I come in?”

Elain guided him to the table. Nesta braced herself behind the counter, almost desperate for a barrier between them.

Cassian looked each of them in the eye. “Do any of you know a Tamlin Rose?”

Nesta nearly shrieked. Feyre’s faced drained of color, and Elain inhaled sharply.

Cassian took it in, and sighed. “I take it you do, then.”

“What about him?” Nesta clenched her fists so tightly she felt her nails draw blood.

“An investigator from L.A. came to my office today. Said he was looking for Rose. Also said the last time Rose was seen alive was with you,” he pointed at Feyre. “I’m here to give you a warning. He wants to meet with you, and there’s something about him I don’t like. I’ll be formally calling you all into the station for questioning.” He paused. “I won’t leave you alone with the guy, I promise. I don’t trust him.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Feyre whispered. Elain guided her to the table, and she sat heavily.

“Because I can tell, some shit went down, and you got caught in it, and I don’t think you asked to be involved.” Cassian set his elbows on the table and leaned in. “Off the record. I’m not a cop, I’m out of uniform. I’m just a guy. But I’m going to ask you what you were doing with Rose, and why I saw pictures of a motel room nearly torn to shreds.”

“Get out,” Nesta hissed. “How dare you? I can’t believe you’d come in here and… _interrogate_ her. Feyre, don’t say anything, you don’t have to-”

Feyre exhaled sharply and thought of her painting, left alone on the back porch. Of the dark monster with the green eyes. Of the other violet eyes that kept appearing. She rubbed her face, slumping inward. “I need a minute.”

“I know it’s a lot, and I’m sorry to ask this,” Cassian said. “But this guy is going to ask that, and more. I want you to be prepared.”

Elain placed her hands on Feyre’s shoulders. “We got a… call from Feyre about two weeks ago. She said she was in trouble, and we went all the way to L.A. to pick her up. We found her at the motel.” She looked down at her sister. “I can tell him, or you can.”

“I’ll do it.” Feyre said, and met Cassian’s eyes. “He’d been acting odd for the past week. Wanted to go on a ‘getaway’. We wound up at that hotel, and he went off the rails. He hit me, and I left him. I called my sisters for help. They picked me up, and we haven’t seen him since we left L.A.”

All truths. Cassian felt them resonate, felt the clear words reverberating in his chest. “Okay.” They were still hiding something, but that was for another time. Another day, when Feyre didn’t look so upset, and Nesta didn’t look like she was ready to vault across the counter and strangle him.

“Okay?” Feyre said. “You believe me?”

“Sweetheart, that bruise I saw on your face last week was proof enough.” Cassian nodded to her. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I had to bring it up, but I wanted to know your side, before anything else.”

Nesta seethed. “Are you done asking upsetting and personal questions?”

“Just about, but the next one is for you,” Cassian grinned. “Would you and your sisters like to come to dinner with me and Az at _Velaris?_ Rhys will be there too.”

Nesta looked to her sisters. Elain grinned, and Feyre seemed to perk up when she heard Rhys’s name. Her eyes weren’t glassy or fearful, but she looked uneasy.

_An investigator._ She glanced at the cauldron in the sink. _Time for another banishing spell, and make it double._

“I’d like to go,” Elain said. “If you guys…”

“Me too,” Feyre said, taking a few deep breaths. “I’d like to feel normal. Please.”

Nesta didn’t have the heart to argue with Feyre, not after the poison barb she’d tossed at her earlier. “Fine. Let’s go.”  
Cassian noticed the cauldron, still simmering in the sink. “Or not? Did I interrupt you in the middle of making dinner?”

“This isn’t, um, edible. I ah, burned it.” Nesta said. She looked at Feyre and Elain. “I’m going to have to make another batch. Double.”

“ _Double_ ,” Feyre agreed.

“Toil and trouble, Nesta,” Elain quipped. “You always let the fire burn until the cauldron bubbles.”

Cassian laughed, and they all stared at him. “Like the witches, that’s funny.” The sisters froze. _We’re idiots,_ Nesta thought. _We might as well just fess up now if we’re going to be this stupid on accident_. 

“Like from Macbeth,” Cassian continued on their way out the door. “You know, double double, toil and, uh… something about something wicked?”

“Articulate, just like the Bard himself,” Nesta muttered, and with a flick of her fingers, the door locked, and they were off to what Nesta considered a doomed dinner.

***

Cassian drove them to dinner, and Nesta was only slightly disappointed to see he had in fact arrived in his usual cop car, and not on a motorcycle. She then cursed herself for the entire ride for even being disappointed at all.

The sisters were rattled, Feyre especially, but the cozy atmosphere of _Velaris_ put them at ease. Rhys had set aside a small table tucked away in the corner. It was private, but still gave them a good view of the restaurant. This, she wondered, might have been for Feyre’s sake, so she could see who came and who went.

They met Azriel, and he was as quiet as Elain described, and Nesta begrudgingly liked him the best out of the three. He wasn’t annoying or cocky, he just watched everything.

When Elain sat down next to him, he watched her too, he watched all the sisters.

“So what was it like growing up here?” Rhysand asked. “We only arrived a few years ago. The townspeople seem… nice.”

Elain snorted. “You mean gossipy.”

Rhys smirked. “Fine. Gossipy. Recently they’ve all been particularly gossipy about the beautiful Archeron sisters who live on top of the hill.”

“You mean the nieces of the Archeron Crones who live in the haunted house,” Nesta snapped, and Elain kicked her under the table.

“Kids liked to tease,” Elain explained. “Our aunts are… unusual.”

“So we’ve heard.” Rhys looked like he wanted to ask more, but Feyre changed the subject.

“What brought you all here?”

Rhys shrugged. “We’ve been drifters all our lives. Tried it here, liked it so much we never left.”

Cassian laughed. Nesta was annoyed at how warm his deep booming laughter made her feel. “You mean we were too broke to keep going and the car broke down ten miles outside of town.”

“Whatever,” Rhysand huffed, but he was smiling too.

“They needed a sheriff, thought I’d try my hand at it,” Cassian said. “I’m ex-military, didn’t go through the academy or anything. But they didn’t give a shit, I think they were just glad I could use a gun without shooting myself in the foot.”

Feyre and Elain laughed, Nesta snorted, and Cassian seemed to count that a win. He’d wedged himself firmly next to Nesta, between her and Elain, so she had no choice but to look at him if she wanted to speak to her sister at all. She did her best to ignore him. He made conversation easily, as if he hadn’t pinned Feyre to the spot and asked her some very dangerous, very pointed questions about Tamlin.

“What about you?” He asked Nesta.

“What about me?”

“What do you do?”

“I… was a lawyer, in New York,” Nesta said. She was surprised she didn’t miss her normal life as much as she thought. “I took a leave of absence when… when everything with Feyre went down.” She said no more, despite Cassian trying to make conversation, determined to remain a brick wall. He didn’t seem to mind.

Feyre was fine, for the most part. When Rhys teased her about tracing messy pictures in the condensation on the table, she’d dared him to do better. He produced a pen and started scribbling on the napkin. She’d been shy at first, but even Nesta couldn’t complain at how gentle Rhys was with her. No unwanted physical contact, no invasive questions or blatant leering. When Feyre wasn’t looking, though, Nesta would catch him watching her with softness in his eyes. She still didn’t like it, didn’t trust it. Not one bit.

Feyre tried not to look him in the eyes. Dreaming about them was one thing; but seeing them was unsettling. She felt safe. She felt seen. And that almost scared her more than anything. She’d felt that way with Tamlin in the beginning, before everything went wrong. But still, something about Rhys set her at ease.

“Your drawing skills are atrocious,” she said, watching him draw a stick figure with arms that looked like hams, and for some reason had bat wings sticking out of it. “What is that? A vampire?”

“It’s Cassian,” Rhys said, and Azriel nearly spat out his drink.

“The hell it is,” Cassian muttered, swiping for the paper, but Feyre snatched it out of the way.

“It’s perfect,” she said, holding it up beside him. “I really see the similarity.”

Nesta craned her head and snorted.

Cassian grabbed the pen and began scribbling on his napkin. Nesta watched as another stick figure took shape, this one also with bat wings and spiky hair, but also with a gruesome grimace.

“Is that another vampire or a self-portrait?” Nesta asked.

“No, it’s Rhys,” Cassian smiled proudly. “Too bad I couldn’t quite get the face right. It’s still too pretty.”

“I am, thank you,” Rhys said. “You wish you could look this good.”

Azriel rolled his eyes at Nesta and Elain. It was obvious this was a conversation he’d heard before.

“I don’t know,” Feyre said, looking at Cassian’s drawing. “The face is pretty spot on.”

“Aright, Feyre darling,” Rhys snatched the pen from Cassian. “If that’s how it is…”

He drew another stick figure, with long hair and furrowed brows, surrounded by what looked like black flames.

“Why am I on fire?” Feyre asked. 

“They’re shadows. I saw it in a dream,” Rhys said, still trying to adjust her expression, adding fangs. He didn’t notice Feyre had frozen. _Feyre darling,_ he’d called her, unexpectedly. She couldn’t decide if she loved it or hated it. The way he’d said it, so easily, so full of affection. And the dreams…

“You’re dreaming about me?” Feyre tilted her head teasingly. _Act casual, damn it_. “Should I be concerned?”

Rhys’s head jerked up, reading her face. “Oh. Oh! No, oh God, Feyre, I’m so sorry, I-”

_Why are you dreaming of me?_ She wondered. _And why do I see you too?_

“It’s fine,” she bumped him with her elbow, ignoring Elain and Nesta’s wide-eyed stares. “Gotcha.” _Act casual, damn it._

Rhys looked relieved. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was such a weird thing to say.”

“Yeah, it was,” Nesta snapped. “Any other weird things you’d like to say to my sister?”

_Oh shit,_ Elain thought. “So, what’s with the wings?” She grabbed for the drawings. “Rhys looks like a vampire, and Cassian looks like a gargoyle.”

Azriel nearly choked, shoulders shaking, and Rhys pounded him a little too hard on the back.

“Are you alright?” Elain giggled.

“FIne,” he coughed. “Are _you_? After your… fall?”

_Ah shit._ “Fine,” Elain said. “It happens.”

He dug in his pocket. “You dropped this when you left.” He handed her a bottle of belladonna. “Not sure what it was.”

Nesta’s mouth went dry, and she could see Feyre tense too, but the deputy didn’t seem to recognize the herb was poison.

“Oh! Just an herb for sleep. Thanks,” Elain dropped it into her bag. “And thanks again for catching me.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed at Elain, but she ignored them.

Azriel smiled, and Elain loved how it spread across his face. His somber air changed, warming, and she almost blushed. “My pleasure.”

He liked the quiet Archeron sister. He was usually uncomfortable around women, feeling awkward and clunky next to the silver-tongued Rhys or the charming Cassian. But Elain was comfortable, with her gentle silence. He liked the playful eyerolls she’d shoot him at dinner, when Cassian tried to provoke Nesta or Rhys. He had a feeling she understood what it was like to be the mediator, the observer. To sit and listen, and referee. 

They finished dinner in silence, but Azriel was still glad to sit next to Elain without saying anything else.

“Thanks for dinner,” Feyre said to Rhysand as Cassian led them to his car. “We’ll pay you one day.”

Rhys waved her off. “Let me keep the drawing, and we’re even.” He nodded to the napkin poking out of her purse. Feyre blushed. She’d drawn him, when she thought he wasn’t looking, and had tucked it away. A simple sketch, strong features, but a good likeness.

“You made me look prettier than Cassian,” Rhys joked when she handed it over. “And I like that you kept the wings.” 

Cassian tilted his head to Nesta. “So, do you think I look like a gargoyle?”

Nesta sneered. “That would be an insult to the gargoyle.” She nodded to Rhys before climbing into the car with her sisters.

“Get him home ok,” Rhys leaned in the passenger window. “He’s afraid of the dark.”

“I am not,” Cassian snapped.

“You can tell when I’m lying, you know I’m not,” Rhys stepped back and waved as they pulled away into the night.

Nesta met Cassian’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and looked away. Hazel eyes, like flames, that danced and flickered. They hinted at something burning underneath.

_Why do his eyes bother me so much?_ She thought angrily. _Fiery eyes…_

When Cassian dropped them off, Elain and Feyre waved, while Nesta trudged into the house, exhausted and on edge, unsure why.

“What’s wrong now?” Feyre asked. “You’re so moody.”

“Something about him just really… I don’t know,” she groaned. “I just don’t like him.”

“I think you do,” Elain said. “I think you like him a _lot_.”

“Elain!” Nesta snapped. “Don’t even go there.”

“You totally do,” Feyre egged her on. “I haven’t seen any man wind you up the way he does.”

“How would you know, you haven’t been around!” Nesta retorted. “I’m surprised you even paid attention since you were so busy drooling over his brother.”

“Guys,” Elain sighed.

“Are you going to stop throwing that in my face, or what?” Feyre snapped. “You can use that against me two more times and then, I’m gone.” She whirled and stormed upstairs. “I’m going to bed.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Elain asked bluntly. “You can be mean, but Nesta, really? We’re finally getting the old Feyre back. And now this investigator comes and threatens to ruin it all for her. For _us_.”

“El-”

“I don’t care if you're scared or angry or what. Sort yourself out, or I will.” Elain said, and Nesta was shocked to hear the firm, angry tone in her sister’s voice. Elain was never stern nor impatient. Never with her. “You can be upset, but if you keep going after Feyre, I will get in between you two.” She too went upstairs, leaving Nesta alone in the dark hallway.

_What the fuck_ is _wrong with me?_ Nesta paced the house, agitated. Fighting with Feyre as kids had been as natural as breathing. But now, there were off-limits topics. The rules of the game had changed, and Nesta wasn’t playing fair.

And that damned sheriff.

Nesta found herself in the workroom, lit only by moonlight pouring in through the bay windows.

She lit a few candles and slumped at the old desk in the corner, rummaging idly through the drawers.

_If aunt Mor were here, she’d know what to say._

Mor could soothe any hurt, any barb she or Feyre could throw at each other. Nesta stared at the candles flames, and closed her eyes, thinking of Mor.

_You’ve got fire,_ Mor had said to Nesta, once. _You’ve got so much fire. And I love it, my dear. It burns in you, deep and lethal. It’s a gift. But it’s also a weapon. Use it, and use it proudly against those who would hurt you. And remember, your sisters are never your enemies._

No, but Nesta was doing a fantastic job of turning Feyre against her, without even trying.

It wasn’t Feyre’s fault, she knew. She was on edge because Cassian made her feel on edge. And his questions about Tamlin, the investigator... Nesta felt afraid, and she hated it. She was like a wild animal, lashing out, feeling cornered.

She wished for Mor and Amren with everything she had. They’d know what to do. They’d know why Cassian’s eyes made her want to hide. Why his laugh made her feel warm, and she wanted to hear more of it. Why, when she saw his car that morning, underneath the holt and cold she felt a tiny spark of… something. Something she dare not name.

Nesta idly rummaged in the desk drawer, hoping to find something from her aunts, a note, a piece of spell. A charm, a map. Anything to help ease her mind. Anything to solve this new problem.

A flash of her own handwriting, spidery and uneven, caught her eye.

A worn piece of notebook paper, stained, with _Amas Veritas_ scrawled across the top. A True Love spell. One she’d written more than fifteen years ago.

***

_The moon hung high in the sky as Nesta snuck out onto the rooftop of the house. The summer air was slowly turning crisp as autumn rolled in, and she shivered in her thin nightgown._

_Mor and Amren were inside, with another client, another dove’s heart. Another desperate woman. Nesta had watched it all, again and again. And the consequences would ripple through the town, time and time again; divorce, affairs, bastard children. Heartbreak. So, so much heartbreak._

_She had it all laid out in front of her: mortar, pestle. Dill and coltsfoot for love, rue for banishing, elderberry for banishing, and to call in the Crone. And a single rose, with full petals in bloom. A red candle for love. And her spell, written out by herself._

_“_ Amas Veritas _,” she whispered. “A spell for True Love.”_

_“Nesta?” Feyre and Elain stared up at her from the balcony below. “What are you doing?” Feyre asked._

_“She’s casting a spell,” Elain said reproachfully. They knew they weren’t supposed to use magic without the aunts._

_“What kind of spell?” Feyre’s eyes gleamed. “Are you going to do a spell like aunt Mor and Amren downstairs?”_

_“A love spell?” Elain exclaimed. “Like for the women downstairs?”_

_Nesta shook her head, methodically measuring and crushing each of the herbs. “No. Do you remember what mom told us about the Archeron Curse?” Ten months had passed since their mother’s death, and Nesta still heard their mother’s warning echo in their ears. The terrible fate that befell all Archeron women. All due to love. “And you see how the women aunt Mor and aunt Amren help get hurt. And they hurt others too.”_

_Elain and Feyre weren’t impressed._

_“So?” Elain asked. “They're in_ love! _”_

_“I can’t wait to fall in love,” said Feyre, still young and starry-eyed. She didn’t understand how fate came for their mother like all the rest._

_“Me either.” Said Elain._

_Nesta plucked a rose petal. “I can.” She pressed it to her lips and dropped it into the pestle._

_Elain and Feyre watched silently as Nesta plucked and kissed petals, dropping them into the mortar. She crushed them all together, and held it up to the sky, with the spell. She squinted at her scrawled handwriting, hard to read in the moonlight._

_“He will hear my call a mile away. He’s afraid of the dark. He can flip pancakes in the air. He will be marvellously kind. His favorite shape is a star. He can tell when people tell lies. He’ll have fire in his eyes. He’ll have wings.” With each line, the mixture of herbs and petals floated into the air, and the wind swept them away, towards the moon. “And,” Nesta finished, as the last petal drifted into the wind, “He’ll be a good man.”_

_“Good men exist,” Feyre said. “That’s a stupid one.”_

_“I like the wings part,” Elain offered. “That bit’s good.”_

_Nesta watched the petals fade away. “I created a man who doesn’t exist. That way, I’ll never fall in love.”_

_“Oh,” Elain sounded disappointed. “Are there real men who have wings?”_ _  
_ _“No, stupid,” Feyre scoffed._

_“Darn,” Elain muttered, and disinterested, went back inside to bed. Feyre followed soon after, but Nesta sat there on the roof, alone, watching the sky, until her eyelids felt heavy and she followed her sisters inside._

_As Nesta lay in bed listening to her sisters breathing, sleep wouldn’t come. And when it finally did, she dreamt of hazel eyes like flames, and the shadows of wings against the sky. And another, small piece of her heart turned to stone._

_***_

Nesta awoke in a cold sweat.

She’d fallen asleep sprawled against the desk, and found the spell stuck to her face. Her chest ached, and felt heavy, like it did most days.

_A man who doesn’t exist. Hazel eyes._

She groaned, rubbing her face, the dream already fading. That damned spell, the spell to ensure she’d never fallen in love. A lot of good it did her.

She’d forgotten completely about the spell. A man who could flip pancakes in the air? Afraid of the dark? Marvelously kind? A good man?

She scoffed, shoving the paper back into the drawer. That man truly didn’t exist, even without the spell.

And the sheriff… she shook her head. So he had hazel eyes. Plenty of men had fiery hazel eyes. And he sure as hell didn’t have wings.

Her heart was stone, she was sure of it. And she was going to keep it that way.

  
  



	6. Like a Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out to all my lovely commenters, THANK YOU, MY LOVES! You are truly too kind to take the time.  
> Here’s a very… talky chapter. Nothing much happens. More to come!  
> I’m so glad you guys are loving the Charmed parallels!! I’m trying my best to stick to it, but for Plot Reasons and the source material, I’ve had to switch their powers up a bit. Feyre’s become a mix of Paige and Phoebe (sort of). Elain’s mostly Phoebe, and Nesta’s got some Piper and Prue. Depending on which season you’re in, this still mostly fits the birth order. Any other suggestions welcome. Thanks!
> 
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -Bible Belt, Dry the River  
> -Daddy’s Lessons, Beyoncé, feat. the Dixie Chicks  
> -Hallelujah, Haim  
> -Missile, Dorothy  
> -Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift

_He said, take care of your mother, watch out for your sister  
Oh, and that's when he gave to me  
With his gun, with his head held high, he told me not to cry  
Oh, my daddy said shoot, Oh, my daddy said shoot _

_-Daddy's Lessons, Beyoncé_

_I met two angels, but they were in disguise, took one look to realize_  
_Tell 'em anything and they will sympathize_  
_These arms hold me tight_  
_Old_ fears, _helped to ease them in my mind_  
_New tears say that they will dry in time..._  
_You were there to protect me like a shield_  
_Long hair running with me through the field_  
_Everywhere you've been with me all along_  
_Why me? How'd I get this hallelujah?_  
_Hallelujah_

_-Hallelujah, Haim_

_Killing me slow, out the window_  
_I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below_  
_Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes_  
_What doesn't kill me makes me want you more..._  
_And I snuck in through the garden gate,_  
_Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh)_  
_And I screamed for whatever it's worth_  
_I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?_

_-Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift_

Feyre sat on the back porch in front of her easel, staring at the sky, but not fully seeing it. The painting was refusing to take shape. The colors swam together, and it looked more like a bleeding wound than a sunrise. Not that she could see much of it. The trees were still thick enough that the horizon remained hidden. If she’d hiked to the beach that morning, she’d been able to see for miles in every direction, the sea stretching before her. But Feyre didn’t feel like moving. She felt like a mouse hiding in its hole, once again, and she hated it.

Cassian had been kind enough to give her a heads up about the investigator, but that didn’t change the fact that someone had noticed Tamlin was gone. And she knew her alibi was shaky at best.

She’d dreamt of leaving him, even before everything had gone wrong. When he’d become more infatuated with his L.A. friends, possibly another lover. He’d leave her in his apartment like a shiny toy for him to show off whenever it was convenient, and forbade her to go anywhere without him. That wasn’t love; that was ownership. She’d been too blind to see it. 

_Maybe Nesta’s right… maybe it is my fault._ She grimaced. Elain would probably disagree. But Feyre wasn’t so sure. 

When Tamlin blew into town five years ago, he was beautiful and interesting and new. Feyre was sick of living quietly, under her aunts and sisters’ watchful eyes. She left with Tamlin the day after she turned eighteen, even as Nesta stood on the balcony that night, arms crossed. She’d watched Feyre toss her suitcase down to Tamlin waiting in the garden, all golden-haired and green-eyed and princely. _Stay,_ Nesta’s voice was quiet, broken. _Feyre. Don’t leave us too_. 

Feyre felt like a bird finally taking flight, and didn’t look back as she and Tamlin snuck out of the garden.

Aunt Mor was disappointed, but unsurprised. Aunt Amren disapproved, but had washed her hands of it. This Elain wrote to her, in the few letters she sent. Nesta, so she said, had raged for days. 

The letters soon stopped. And Tamlin began revealing the monster underneath, little by little. Feyre hadn’t realized until it was too late.

A cage took shape underneath her brush, golden, harsh and beautiful. A bird inside, wings tucked against its body. Set against the backdrop of her ruined sunset, the bird looked like it was bleeding. Feyre thought of the doves her aunts would use in love spells and shuddered. She’d found many a dove carcass buried on the edge of the forest, holes where the hearts should be. 

She sighed and put down her paintbrush. When she was young and foolish, the Archeron Curse didn’t sound real. It sounded like a story her mother had told on her deathbed, if only to explain their father’s cruelty. The truth hurt more: it wasn’t a curse that turned their father into a weak man; he had been one all along, and he’d merely swindled their mother into loving him.

Nesta believed in the curse too much, and Feyre thought her foolish for it. Elain had made no comment, not when Tamlin came to take her away and not when she and Nesta came to the rescue and covered his body with six feet of dirt. So maybe it _was_ Feyre’s fault. She’d fallen for a weak man all on her own, no curse required.

She’d turned over in her mind all yesterday and night what to say to the investigator. Cassian hadn’t called that day about questioning, but Elain said she Saw it happening within the week. They agreed Feyre sticking to the truth was for the best. What she’d told Cassian, _he hit me, and I left him… we haven’t seen him since_. All truths. Nesta had offered no council.

She’d avoided Nesta since yesterday, too. It wasn’t hard to do. Nests locked herself in the workroom and didn’t come out until dinner, after Feyre escaped to her room, still licking her wounds. Elain didn’t normally take sides, but on this, she took Feyre’s.

“Morning,” Elain said. She had two cups of coffee in her hands. “Did you sleep well?”

Feyre snorted. “Nope.” She’d not slept at all, instead painting through the night.

“I’m sorry about Nesta.”

Feyre shrugged, setting the painting aside to dry. “Some things don’t change I guess.”

Elain didn’t disagree. Nesta was prickly on the best of days. “She missed you, when we left.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“In her own way, she did.”

“Not everything has to be her way.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Elain agreed. She looked at the canvases stacked against the porch railing. “I’m glad you’re painting again.”

“Me too.” Feyre rubbed her eyes. “I’m going to bed.” She was smeared with paint, and didn’t care if she got more on her face. She scratched at some that had dried on her nose. “Maybe I’ll take a shower. Ugh.”

Elain gave her a small smile. “Are you a witch or not? A little charm will clean it up.”

“Oh. Right.” She’d been with Tamlin so long her magic had gone dormant. Household charms, baking charms, cleaning charms… after awhile, she’d forgotten them altogether.

“Wither and heather and hither and yon, with this spell the paint begone.” Elain flicked her fingers at Feyre, and the paint disappeared from her skin. “You just need some practice.” Elain said. “It’ll come back to you. It’s in your blood.”

Feyre sniffed, and then Elain had wrapped her in her arms, heads touching. “Thanks,” Feyre said, wiping her eyes on Elain’s shoulder. “I didn’t feel like it. For a long time.”

Elain squeezed her sister. “I know. But if you call it, it’ll come back to you.”

It wasn’t just her magic Feyre missed. She missed aunt Amren’s sarcasm. Aunt Mor’s brownies that never burned, no matter how long she forgot them in the oven. She missed Elain’s kindness and wit. And she missed Nesta’s loyalty and fierceness. On their good days, the three of them clicked. They’d conjured and brewed and cast, and when they invoked the the power of the sisters three, they were unstoppable.

Feyre’s power lay in the darkness. Under the light of the moon and stars, her magic sang. The darkness was her friend. It would creep to her, cradle her. And when she dreamed… her dreams were not like Elain’s prophetic dreams. Feyre’s dreams were on another plane. She could pluck things out of her dreams with ease. When she was a child, she’d often wake surrounded by toys, or animals. Once, a very memorable deer, which Amren had to chase out of the house, cursing Feyre and her ridiculous power at the same time. How Mor had laughed, to see her sister so defied by a simple beast.

“Get some sleep,” Elain said. “You look like you need it.”

Feyre shrugged, and nodded to her paintings. “You’ll keep an eye on them?”

“I’ll wrap them once they’re dry,” Elain promised. “And I’ll corral any extra friends on the way.”

Feyre’s paintings were sometimes like her dreams. If she tried hard enough, if she felt her magic pour out of her, paintbrush as a conduit, the paintings would sometimes come alive. Birds would take flight right off the canvas. Rain clouds would float to the sky and downpour.

But none of these paintings had moved. Feyre didn’t know if it was because she wasn’t using enough magic, or if there was nothing left to use.

“They’ll turn out,” Elain said. “Maybe you can paint us some familiars.” She sighed, eyes dreamy. “I always wanted a cat. I never really felt like a real witch without one.”

Feyre snorted. “Nesta will have a fit.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Nesta, I’m realizing, needs to learn how to put on her big girl pants and suck it up.”

Feyre laughed. It felt rusty, unused, rattling in her chest. “Good luck telling her that.”

Elain shooed her towards the back door. “That’s a battle for another day. Go to bed.” She paused. “By the way. Rhys called the house yesterday. He said Cassian mentioned you might be in trouble, but Cassian wouldn’t tell him the specifics, so he wanted to check on you.”

Feyre blinked, sleep addled and surprised and a little elated. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him to call back today,” Elain said. “Will you want to talk to him, or do you want me to take a message?”

Feyre chewed it over. Rhys made her nervous, but not in the way Tamlin had. Rhys stoked that urge in her to tease, to spar. Tamlin had nearly stamped it out. 

“Take a message,” Feyre murmured, stumbling up the stairs. “Thanks.”

When Feyre crashed onto her bed, her body sighed in relief. She hadn’t pulled a painting-all nighter in a while, and while she loved it, she was exhausted. She shut her curtains against dawn’s watery morning light. Sleep came, easily. She thought of Rhys, and in the safety of her mind, dared to let herself dream.

_Hands running down her waist. Rhys, dark head bent to hers. She tilted her face and their lips met. There was none of the predatory want as it had been with Tamlin, but it was a hunger all the same. Before, she used to be afraid. But now, she felt like a wildfire. And something about this dream was different. It was almost too tangible. None of the hazy dreaminess she was used to. She could see his jawline, nose, the lines of his face sharply defined. He felt tangible, warm. He pulled her to him, tightly, scooping his arms around her waist. It wasn’t suffocating, but Feyre was surprised at how firm his body felt against hers._

_“Feyre,” he murmured, as if in her ear._

_“Rhys,” she breathed, kissing him harder._

_“Feyre,” again, louder. “Feyre wake up.”_

Feyre’s eyes flew open to see Elain standing over her, phone in hand. “It’s the sheriff.” She shifted her weight. “I Saw him calling in the next five minutes. I can tell him it’s not a good time, but..”

Feyre glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly one in the afternoon. “He wants me to come in.”

“Yes,” Elain handed her the phone, which had begun to ring. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“Sheriff Knight?” Feyre answered.

A pause. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Lucky guess. Can I um, help you?”

“I’m officially calling you into the station at the request of Investigator Vanserra, regarding the disappearance of Tamlin Rose.” She heard the regret in his voice, but that didn’t make it better. A cold shiver washed over her spine.

“I - can you give me half an hour?” She’d hoped for more time to pull herself together.

“Yes,” Cassian said. “One thirty. You’re welcome to bring anyone you’d like. Your sisters, especially.” Feyre knew he bit back a crack about Nesta.

“Thanks. I’ll see you then.” Feyre hung up and flopped back, draping an arm across her eyes. They all thought this Tamlin bullshit had been over. When he’d isolated her, locked her away, he also became reclusive. No friends to really speak of. Some coworkers, but… she’d hoped, no one would mind him gone. Or at least, no one would care enough to call the cops about it.

Unless, he still had someone to notice his absence.

When Feyre sat up, she realized she was clutching something in her hand. A man’s leather bracelet, well-worn. It reminded her of the one she’d seen around Rhys’s wrist at dinner. It seemed she was back to dreaming things up out of thin air again, so her power might not be as dormant as she thought. But even that didn’t do much to cheer her up.

Still, the reminder of Rhys was comforting. Even if she hated to admit it. After a moment, Feyre slipped it around her wrist, tightening the straps. _Let’s do this_.

Elain and Nesta were waiting in the kitchen when Feyre tramped down the stairs.

“Let’s get this bullshit over with.” Feyre said.

“I’m coming with you,” Nesta said. “As your legal counsel.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were a different type of lawyer.” Truth be told, she didn’t know _what_ type of law Nesta practiced.

“I’m a civil rights attorney,” Nesta said. “Not a criminal prosecutor, but… I’ve seen cases like this. I’ve represented women before. Domestic disputes, usually. But some cases were… extreme.” Feyre didn’t say anything, and Nesta hesitated. “If you want me there, I mean.” She shifted nervously from foot to foot. “If you don’t, that… that’s okay, but I just thought, since we’re all in this…”

Feyre saw Nesta’s point, but her sister’s words from the other night still felt like fresh wounds. She didn’t want to get into it. She knew they’d have to, eventually. But not now, not when Feyre had to decide what she wanted to be upset about.

The Tamlin thing won out. She wouldn’t go to jail for being angry with Nesta, but she’d definitely go to prison if the investigator decided he didn’t like her story.

“Fine,” Feyre bit out. “Let’s go.”

Elain grabbed the car keys and hustled them out the door before the kitchen could become another battlefield.

***

Feyre studied the investigator sitting across from her in the small interview room. Something about him struck her as familiar, but then, L.A. was filled with all types.

He was dressed smartly, wearing a dark suit tailored to his lean frame. His vibrant hair was neatly tied back. His eyes, she didn’t like his eyes at all.

“Miss Archeron,” the investigator flashed her a smile. He reminded her of a fox; there was something about him that she didn’t trust. “Thank you for meeting with me.” He tilted his head to Nesta and Elain, clustered on either side of her, in worn, uncomfortable wooden chairs. “And the other Miss Archerons. I’m Investigator Vanserra, Los Angeles Police Department.” He turned his smile on them both. “May I have a few moments alone with the youngest Miss Archeron?”

Nesta glared at him. “Not a chance.”

“I want them here,” Feyre said. “I asked them to come.”

He inclined his head. “Very well.” He handed her a folder. “Your boyfriend was Tamlin Rose, yes?”

Feyre flipped open the file and Nesta watched the blood drain from her face. She leaned over and saw a destroyed motel room. Next to it, a headshot of Tamlin. Strong jaw, classic nose. Nesta remembered the satisfying crunch it made when her fist had met his face.

“He was,” Feyre’s voice was quiet.

“And how long were you with him?”

“Five years,” Feyre was still looking at the photograph. “Is he…”

“He’s missing, presumed dead,” the investigator said. “We’re still looking for his body.”

Feyre met his gaze, and Nesta was proud of her for not flinching under his strange and unnerving stare. “Presumed dead?”

“Can you tell me, when was the last time you saw him?”

Feyre sighed. Like she’d practiced, she answered him carefully. “About three weeks ago.”

“And you were with him, in that motel,” the investigator said. “We have eyewitness reports confirming Rose was accompanied by a woman. Blue eyes, dirty blonde hair, five-six.” He tilted his head. “Fits your description.”

Nesta fought the urge to break his nose as well. “Do you have proof?” She shot back. “Photographs, video? Anything concrete besides witnesses to place her there?”

Vanserra smiled, unruffled. “The motel had a security tape, we’re working on recovering the footage.”

_Good luck, you rat bastard,_ she thought triumphantly. _Don’t fuck with me._

Nesta had had the good sense to burn the cameras with witchfyre, after they spotted the blinking red light in the parking lot. Tamlin’s body was already stuffed in the trunk by then. 

Even after five years, the fire came when Nesta called. She’d tried to forget it smoldering in her belly, her veins. But when she needed it, it was there again.

“Can you tell me what happened in this motel room?” the investigator tapped the photograph. “There’s an awful lot of blood.”

Feyre took a deep breath. “He’d been acting… irrational for the past week. Wanted to go on vacation, practically threw me into the car. When we got there, he… went into a rage. I had no idea why.” _Because I wanted to go home._ “The blood is mine. He hit me, and I left him. My sisters came and picked me up. We haven’t seen him since.”

“He hasn’t tried to contact you?”

“No,” Feyre said. _Spirit dreams and hauntings don’t count._ “No phone calls, no letters. Nothing.”

Vanserra leaned back in his chair. “What got him so riled up?”

“You’ve said all you need to, Feyre,” Nesta butted in. “Leave it at that.”

The investigator sighed. “Miss Archeron, would you leave the room please?”

“No,” Nesta leaned in. “I’m not only her sister, I’m her lawyer. My client’s done discussing this. She’ll say no more unless you have it in writing.”

Vanserra narrowed his eyes. “I’m hardly accusing her of anything.” He tilted his head. “Maybe I should be asking _you_ questions, Miss Archeron.”

“You’ll hear the same,” Nesta said. “Elain and I received a call from our incredibly distressed sister and left immediately to pick her up.”

“And where did you pick her up?” Vanserra shot back, the wily bastard. “That motel room, perhaps?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes.

“I took the liberty of driving by your house,” investigator Vanserra said, and Feyre fought to remain still as an icy finger of fear ran down her spine. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s Rose’s car in your yard.” He leaned in. “So, my dears, if the car’s here, then where’s Tamlin Rose?”

“I stole the car,” Elain blurted, drawing Vanserra’s attention away from Feyre’s pallid face and Nesta’s red one. “I, ah. We did pick Feyre up. At the motel. And I took his car. It’s a crime, I know.” The words poured out, before she could stop them. She ignored Nesta and Feyre’s wide-eyed stares.

Investigator Vanserra fixed his gaze on Elain. Nesta didn’t like how long his eyes rested on her face, like she was something he’d disregarded at first glance, but had changed his mind when he looked again. “Why did you take Rose’s car?”

“We needed to get out,” Elain said. “We needed to come home.” Nesta watched her nervously knot her fingers together under the desk. “To see our aunts.”

“That’s right. Your aunts.” Vanserra looked at all the sisters. “The word in town is they’ve killed seven husbands between them.”

Feyre gripped Nesta’s knee to keep her from leaping across the table. “How dare you?” Nesta seethed. “All rumors. This town is full of ungrateful, gossiping cows.”

Vanserra remained calm, and Nesta felt her control begin to slip. “I don’t want to throw insults, nor am I interested in stories. But I am interested in patterns.”

“And what pattern would that be?” Nesta grit out.

“Men tend to turn up dead or missing when Archeron women are involved,” Vanserra said. “Mr. Rose appears to be no different.”

“Feyre, don’t say another word,” Nesta seethed. “Not until he’s got something to back these ridiculous statements.” She slammed her palms on the table and stood. “I’m not interested in your half-baked conspiracy theories about my family. Feyre told you the truth. He hit her, we came to get her. She left him. The only thing we took was his car, and we’ll return it if you want.” Nesta sneered. “That piece of crap is nothing to us. This,” Nesta flipped through the file, brandishing Feyre’s bruised face at him. “This is proof Feyre’s the victim here. _Not_ Rose.”

Vanserra had watched Nesta rage with that calm smirk and Nesta felt her temper climb.

Elain saw it too, and jumped in. “Is that all you need from us, Mr. Vanserra? May we go?”

He smiled at her. “Please. Call me Lucien. And yes, I have everything I need for now.” He rose from his seat and extended his hand to shake. Nesta ignored it. Feyre looked at it like it was going to bite her. Elain was the only one who shook it, even halfheartedly. “Thank you for your time, ladies,” he said. “You’ll hear from me soon.” He smiled at Elain, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. She didn’t like the pull of his gaze, the strange gold one that seemed to stop her in her tracks. _Wrong wrong wrong_ , her magic whispered to her. _Get away_.

Before Nesta could snap at him again, he left. Cassian stepped in a moment later. Nesta wondered if he’d been listening at the door, standing guard.

“Are you alright?” He asked Feyre quietly. “He didn’t ask anything too… personal?”

“I’m fine,” Feyre muttered. “I need a cup of coffee or something.” Her stomach was roiling, and she doubted coffee would settle it. But the warmth would be something. The bitter taste might mask the acrid one in her mouth.

“Are you alright?” Cassian asked Nesta. “I heard shouting.”

“That rat bastard had the audacity to insinuate we murdered somebody.” _He’s not wrong_. “He didn’t even have the balls to come right out and say it.”

Cassian’s face darkened. “He did what?”

“No evidence, just making assumptions,” Nesta said. “If he so much as breathes in Feyre’s direction again, I’ll kick his ass. He can’t call her in and then insult us by throwing our family history in our face as evidence.”

Cassian stared at her. “Family history?”

Nesta ignored him. “We’re going home,” she reached for Feyre’s arm, but dropped her hand when Feyre shot her a frosty glare.

“Lets go,” Nesta pleaded.

“So you can yell at me about this? No thanks,” Feyre muttered. “You practically leapt across the table to claw his eyes out. What about that is laying low?”

“He’s making accusations he has _no right_ to!” Nesta cried. “Excuse me for trying to protect us!”

“When I said you could come with, I didn’t mean to speak _for_ me!” Feyre snapped. “You didn’t even let me argue for myself! If we do this, we do this as a team!”

Nesta gaped. “I was helping!”

“You were steamrolling! He’s going to think we’re up to something! I need you to help me, not decide what’s best!”

_But I do know what’s best_ , Nesta bit back. “Fine. Goddess.”

Feyre sighed. _I’m so sick of fighting._ “Okay.” She pushed past Cassian. “I need some time to myself.”

“Feyre-” Nesta called, but Feyre waved her off.

“I can’t do this right now. I need to think.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Elain said, trying to lead Nesta to the door. “We all need a break.”

“We need to regroup _together_ ,” Nesta said. “But fine. Run away.”

Cassian had pinned himself against the wall, watching the sisters argue, and seeing Nesta had calmed down, finally stepped in.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Cassian said. “Give you a heads up, whatever he does. You have my number, _use_ it. I don’t like this guy.” He snatched Nesta’s phone from her hand, and tapped at the screen. His own phone dinged at his hip, and Nesta grabbed for hers back.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Now I can get ahold of you if I need to,” This wasn’t flirty Cassian; this was the Sheriff, professional and strategic. Take-charge. Calculating, two steps ahead. “If you need anything, call me. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.” He nodded to Elain and Feyre. “Stay smart, stay alert. If this guy approaches you when you’re out, call me. If he comes to your house, _call_ _me.”_

“I know what I’m doing,” Nesta snapped. “I told you before, we’re not helpless children. We can protect ourselves.”

“Sure,” Cassian said. “But an extra pair of eyes looking out for you never hurt anyone.”

Nesta didn’t try to argue, just sighed.

“Thank you,” Elain said to Cassian. “For everything.”

“I’m glad to,” Cassian said. “It’s what friends do.”

Nesta snorted and followed Elain out the door. “Since when are we friends?”

“Since you didn’t try to stab me once through dinner the other night,” Cassian said seriously.

“ _That’s_ your criteria for friends?” Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Next time maybe I won’t be able to hold myself back.”

“Next time?” Cassian’s eyes sparkled. “Is that a promise?”

Nesta’d forgotten, in their banter, about his too-familiar eyes. Her dream came rushing back. Panic, icy and sharp, rose in her throat.

“Fat chance,” Nesta spat, whirling away before Cassian could see her blush.

Elain rolled her eyes. “We’ll see you later,” she said quietly to Cassian, following on her sisters. “Thanks again.”

Cassian didn’t hear her; Elain watched his eyes follow Nesta down the dingy hallway and to the front door. When he finally tore his eyes away from Nesta’s disappearing form, Elain watched confusion and hurt wash over his face before he rearranged his features. An image flashed to her, of Cassian looking at Nesta and Nesta looking back, this time, without fear, without anger. With openness.

Cassian nodded, flashing her a cocky grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “See you later. We’ll hold you to it.”

Nesta and Feyre stood outside the station, backs to each other, and Elain bit back a groan. She didn’t feel like getting in the middle, not today.

“I’m going for a walk,” Feyre said, heading down the street.

“Stay close,” Elain said. “In town. Call us if you need a ride.”

Feyre shrugged her off, refusing to look at Nesta.

Nesta pressed her palms to her face. Elain sighed. “Let’s go home.”

Nesta nodded. “I’m an asshole.”

“Tell that to Feyre,” Elain muttered. “Let’s go.”

***

Feyre found herself bypassing the little coffee shop in town, Prythian, and pushed through the doors of Velaris.

Part of her admired Nesta for her fire, her boldness. She was surprised Nesta had fought so fiercely for her. But part of her still stung with Nesta’s barbed insults from the other night. Nesta was good at arguing, Feyre recalled. It was no surprise she’d become a lawyer. But Nesta could also get reckless when she was angry. Her words became daggers in Feyre’s thin, thin skin. Even if Nesta didn’t mean it, Feyre still felt wounded.

Rhys was behind the bar and grinned at Feyre when she sank onto a barstool. “It’s a little early for a drink,” he winked. “But I won’t judge. What can I get you?”

Feyre shrugged. “Whatever’s fine. I didn’t really come for a drink.”

Rhys’s beautiful eyes glittered. “Then why did you come?” When Feyre didn’t rise to the flirt, he frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes and no,” Feyre said. “I just… my sister, Nesta, and I… we fight.” She grabbed a bar napkin and started shredding it into long strips. “I just couldn’t spend another day cooped up with her. I needed some space.”

“Take all the time you need,” Rhys said. “And whatever you want, on the house.”

Feyre looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

“I hate fighting with my brothers, but it happens.” Rhys said. “I know what it’s like to need time.”

“Azriel doesn’t strike me as the argumentative type,” Feyre said wryly.

“You’d be surprised, he’s an asshole, he’s just a quiet one,” Rhys grinned when Feyre laughed softly.

“And Cassian?”

“Oh, Cassian’s an asshole and he’ll let you know it.”

Feyre laughed louder, and didn’t notice how Rhys’s expression softened at the sound. “Funny, I think Nesta’s figuring that out on her own.” Feyre tilted her head at him. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you an asshole too?”

“Of course not,” Rhys’s smile was cockier than Cassian’s. “I’m perfect.”

“Humble too,” Feyre said, and laughed when Rhys bowed.

“Humble and perfect, at your service.”

Rhys let Feyre sit, studying the bar, the patrons. For two o’clock in the afternoon, it was busy, and Feyre was content to study the faces, both familiar and unfamiliar. He didn’t notice how she studied him as well. Even Feyre couldn’t ignore how his black t-shirt hugged his arms and chest so snugly. How thick his dark hair was. She thought of her dream, how his body felt against hers. She missed it, even if that sounded ridiculous. She wondered what his touch would feel like in the waking world.

“Here,” he tossed her a pen. “Draw on the napkins. It’s less messy than tearing them up like a child.”

Feyre jolted out her thoughts. “Oh! I’m so sorry-”

“Kidding.” He studied her bowed head as she scratched shapes into the paper. “Can I ask, what the fight was about?”

“Nothing and everything,” Feyre muttered. “Nesta and I have always butted heads. It’s nothing new. I don’t have the energy for it now than when I did as a kid.”

Rhys nodded.

“We fought about… history. Mistakes I made. She threw them in my face. Then she tried to save the day and made things worse.”

“What happened?” Rhys regretted his question when Feyre’s eyes shuttered.

“Nothing I feel like talking about.” Her voice was cold.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m sorry for prying.”

Feyre sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. It’s just private. I don’t feel like rehashing it.”

Rhys nodded, and knew the conversation had passed. He studied Feyre again, and something caught his eye. “What’s on your wrist?”

“This?” Feyre held up her wrist, a braided leather bracelet hanging off, almost too big for her thin arms. “I, ah. Found it.”

“Where?” Rhys gestured to his own wrist. “I’ve been looking for mine. I’ve no idea where it’s gone.”

Feyre looked at him strangely. “You can’t find your bracelet?”

“No, I woke up this morning and it was gone.” 

He bit his tongue before he could tell her more, how he dreamt of her skin, how he dreamt he was kissing her until his lips were numb. How he could have sworn it was real until he opened his eyes and found himself alone, reaching for her. He was horrified, for wanting her so badly. The bruise on her face was almost healed but it reminded him she had been hurt, perhaps by a lover. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she never wanted to take another lover ever again.

He could have sworn Feyre was blushing. “Oh. Um. Did it fall off when you slept? Is it around here, maybe?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t see it. You said you found it?”

_Think, Feyre._ “Oh. Um. It was on the ground. Below the bar.” She gestured lamely. “I just noticed it. Picked it up.”

“Can I see it?”

She slipped it off her wrist and passed it over; Rhys flipped it inside out, and she saw the inscription, tooled on the inside, _from Luna._ “Oh thank God, this is mine.” He exhaled, wrapping it around his wrist. “How the hell did it wind up down there?”

_How indeed_ . “Maybe it slipped off?” Feyre suggested. “But I’m glad I could… find it for you. It seems really… special.” _Who the hell is Luna?_

“It is,” Rhys rubbed the bracelet with his thumb, an action Feyre could tell he’d done hundreds of times. “That’s never happened before.”

“Well, first time for everything,” Feyre said lamely, trying to clamp down the panic that rose in her chest. She hadn’t dreamed up the bracelet. She’d _taken_ it. From _Rhys_.

_Dreamwalking again._ She hadn’t done that since before Tamlin. Only once, to call her sisters for help. She’d tumbled into Rhy’s dream. _Did that mean… was he dreaming of me? Before I… fell in?_

The urge to run was tugging at her feet. This was why she’d shied from her magic for so long; it complicated everything. “I, ah. Thanks. For the company.” 

“Of course,” Rhys said softly. “And for what it’s worth, I know how shitty it feels to fight with your siblings, especially when they’ve hurt you. Nesta seems to love you, in her own way. She practically snarls at anyone who gets too close to you and Elain.”

Feyre nodded, after a moment. “That she does.”

“I’m not saying she’s in the right,” Rhys said. “But if she tries to apologize, let her. When your siblings are all you have,” his face changed. Feyre saw grief, sharp and fleeting, and then it was gone. “They’re still your blood, in the end.”

She nodded again. “We’ve hurt each other so many times over the years. And now, we’re back at each other’s throats.”

“Why’d you leave?” Rhys asked. “Or is that-”

“For another time,” Feyre said, and he backed off. She glanced at her phone and saw an hour had passed. She had three missed calls from Elain, and one from Nesta.

_At Velaris_ , she texted Elain.

She responded immediately. _Need a ride?_

Feyre glanced at Rhys, pulling a beer for another patron, his bracelet safely around his wrist. She half knew why she woke up clutching it, and half didn’t want to admit why. Her magic was returning. Bringing with it, strange dreams, stranger than any she’d ever had. She wondered what else had returned, and a thought occurred to her.

_No,_ Feyre typed back. _I’m going to-_

_WINNOW?!?!11!_ Elain typed, before Feyre could finish the text. _Tell me I didn’t just See you winnow into the living room in about twenty minutes._

_I’m going to try, but it sounds like I’ll succeed. Thx. See you soon._ Feyre switched off her phone and slid a five across the bar. “I gotta go. Thanks for… thanks for listening.” She smiled at Rhys, and felt warm when he winked back.

“Anytime, Feyre dar-” he paused, “Feyre. You’re welcome anytime.” He slid the five back to her. “Friends don’t pay for advice.”

“Are we friends?” Nesta’s words echoed in her ears.

“Of course. No one else is willing to take my side against Cassian.”

“I find that hard to believe, Azriel constantly gets between you.”

“Azriel doesn’t count,” Rhys retorted. “Besides, he’s nowhere near as funny.” _Or as cute._

“I am pretty funny,” Feyre mused. “Alright. We’re friends.” Before she left, she looked back at Rhys. “You know, if we’re friends…” she thought of the shadow she’d seen cross his face. “I give okay advice. But I’m better at being a listening ear.”

Rhys’ face changed again, and Feyre saw the grief again, before it was gone. “Thank you, Feyre,” he said, almost hoarsely. “I’ll see you soon.”

She gave him one last look before leaving, before he could see her blush.

Outside, late afternoon was giving way to dusk. The air was chilly, and she hugged her hoodie tighter around her. She’d missed autumn most of all, in California. No seasons meant she felt stagnant. Everything seemed frozen in perpetual spring-summer. She’d grown to hate it.

Feyre ducked into a narrow alleyway and clenched her fists. Dream conjuring and painting was one thing, but winnowing…

Her magic had been feeling antsy, ever since banishing Tamlin. Like a cat that had woken from a long nap, it wanted to play, and she felt it slinking around in her mind, her fingertips.

Feyre was the only sister who could winnow. When she was seven, she’d managed to disappear from the kitchen table and reappear on the roof. Amren had climbed on her broom to rescue Feyre, and grumbled the entire time.

Mor had taught her that summer, in the backyard. She’d marked a series of lines, ten feet between each one, in the dirt, and Feyre gained distance with each jump. By the end of the summer, Feyre could snap from the porch to the edge of the forest with ease.

Feyre closed her eyes, and inhaled, exhaled, steadily. She fixed the living room in her mind. She could smell the musty, oversweet scent of the air, the old books. The dust. She could hear Elain in the kitchen, Nesta bumping around in the workroom.

_Home,_ Feyre breathed, and the world went dark.

She stumbled, flinging her arms out just in time to crash into the couch, gut roiling from the disorienting and slightly painful winnow. “Ouch!”

“Feyre?” Elain poked her head in. “Oh good! You did it!” She leaned against the doorframe. “You were with…” she trailed off, eyes glassy, and squealed. “Rhys?”

“Yes,” Feyre sat up, dusting herself off, ignoring the nausea. She’d have to practice; she never used to get so sick afterwards. “I needed time. Velaris was open, so I went in to say hi.”

“Hmm,” Elain hummed. “Yes, I bet he said hi right back. Were you okay, after the interview?”

“Fine,” Feyre said. “I was… angry.” She nodded to the workroom. “How’s Nesta?”

“Beating herself up, as usual.” Elain crossed her arms. “She feels bad, Feyre. I’m not going to apologize for her, but she’s angry at herself.”

“I know,” Feyre said. “Do you think she’d… talk to me?”

“Absolutely,” Elain said. “But if I were you, I’d let her grovel a bit longer. She’s been a bitch.”

Feyre laughed, surprised at Elain’s frankness, and Elain laughed too. “She wouldn’t be an Archeron if she wasn’t,” Feyre muttered, heading for the door. “It runs in the family.”

“Unfortunately,” Elain muttered, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Feyre knocked, and after a moment, Nesta eased the door open. She looked surprised to see Feyre there. “Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Feyre asked. “Please?”

“Sure,” Nesta stepped back, and Feyre slipped into the room. Nesta had been here awhile, she could see. Candles smoldered in their sconces. Dried herbs were scattered everywhere, between torn bits of notebook paper. The grimoire sat in its cradle on the windowsill.

“Doing spells?”

Nesta shrugged a shoulder. “Sort of. Nothing concrete. Just charms. I don’t like that Vanserra guy. And the sheriff's pissing me off.”

“I think he’s made a game out of it,” Feyre said wryly. “If you don’t react, he’ll go away.”

Nesta snorted. “He’s like a dog. He’ll keep coming around just to piss in our yard, just because.” She wrung her hands. That was new, Feyre noted. Nesta had always seemed so composed. “Look, Feyre. I want to apologize, for the other night, and for this morning. You’re right, I threw some things in your face that I shouldn’t have. It was a low blow, and I was angry.” She studied her feet. “But that doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for overreacting this morning.”

Feyre patted the stool next to her, and Nesta sat, their knees pressed together. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched her sister. No hugs, no pats, nothing. Nesta was an island. “Thank you,” she said. “I know we butted heads, when we were kids. Sometimes it feels like the only thing we’re good at.” Nesta nodded at that. “I hate fighting with you,” Feyre said softly.

“Me too,” Nesta said. “Especially since we just got you back.” She looked Feyre in the eye, blue eyes meeting blue eyes. So similar. “I know I’m not… easy to get along with, or pleasant to be around. I just-” she broke off, her voice sounding suspiciously thick, “I just want to keep us safe. Especially with the aunts gone.”

“I don’t like being dictated to,” Feyre said quietly. “I’ve had enough of that. Can you let me do this my way? And trust me?”

Nesta nodded, pursing her lips. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Feyre’s voice was still quiet. “Are we okay?”

“You forgive me?” Nesta asked.

Feyre sighed, and nodded. “We’re stronger together.”

The sisters stared at each other before Nesta slowly reached out and clasped Feyre’s hand in hers. “Thank you. I’ll do better.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Both Feyre and Nesta felt the soft hum as their magic sang. Peace, somewhat, had been restored.

_Sisters three we always be,_ Feyre thought, squeezing Nesta’s hands. Nesta squeezed back.

***

The witch flicked back her blonde hair, peering into her crystal ball. The Archeron sisters’ faces danced across, tinted in gold.

Feyre Archeron, pale, cornered. _He hit me, and I left him. My sisters came and picked me up. We haven’t seen him since._

Then Nesta Archeron, furious. _I’m not interested in your half-baked conspiracy theories about my family._ _Feyre told you the truth._

And Elain Archeron, trying to keep the peace. _I stole the car._ Poor thing, like a deer in headlights.

The crystal ball whirred as Vanserra’s eye focused on the middle sister, lingering too long for the witch’s taste. She’d reprimand him for that, later. But now now. There was work to be done.

Even when they were on poor terms, the Archeron sisters protected each other with a fierceness unlike anything she’d seen. It would take more than an investigator poking around to get them to crack. But it seems Lucien had done his work. Nesta Archeron appeared to be the weakest link. She was quick to anger, which meant she was rash, volatile. The witched wondered what Nesta Archeron was like when she unleashed all that fire she kept pent up. She must be a fearsome thing to behold. Feyre was still a quiet, scared mouse. And Elain… Elain had caught Vanserra’s eye. Perhaps that could be used to her advantage. And when he prodded about the aunts and their mysterious dead husbands, the sisters visibly recoiled. Nesta had nearly clawed Lucien’s eye out.

_It might be time to dig up some dirt on the Archeron sisters._ She glanced at the large map of the desert surrounding L.A., and the hank of bloody blonde hair wrapped around a pendulum for scrying. _And perhaps, dig up something else._


	7. Palm to Palm is Holy Palmers' Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter courtesy of Downton Abbey’s Mary Crawley who gave me a LOT of Nesta inspo and Pride and Prejudice (2005)’s Hand Touch™ scene. Thanks again for the love!! I hope you're all staying healthy and busy. Here's a chapter to keep you occupied (and more to come, since what else am I gonna do right now??) Also please forgive me the super indulgent chapter title. It just popped into my head and went with it.
> 
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -A Little Wicked, Valerie Broussard  
> -Witch, the bird and the bee  
> -Hex Girl, The Hex Girls  
> -You'll be Mine, the Pierces  
> -Take Me to Church, Hozier  
> -If You Ever Did Believe, Stevie Nicks

_A little wicked, that's what he calls me_  
_'Cause that's what I am, that's what I am_  
_No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne..._  
_Beware the patient woman, 'cause this much I know_  
_No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne_

_-A Little Wicked, Valerie Broussard_

_Yes, I am a witch  
And I have conjured you for my bidding  
And all my charms and all my accidents  
Are just instruments to lock you up_

_-Witch, the bird and the bee_

_With this little cobweb potion, you'll fall into dark devotion  
If you ever lose affection, I can change your whole direction  
I'm a Hex Girl and I'm gonna put a spell on you_

_-Hex Girl, The Hex Girls_

_"For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss... O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do."_

_-Romeo and Juliet_

Ianthe paced in front of the mirror. Vanserra was late, as always. It was past midnight, and she was wasting moonlight. The beautiful blonde witch paused to adjust her lipstick, her silver circlet so it fell just-so across her forehead. Silver rings, silver bracelets and silver necklaces dripped from her lithe frame. Not that she ever grew tired of admiring her reflection, but there were things to do.

“ _Shadow and night, appear in my sight_ ,” she said, flicking her fingers at the mirror. It glowed dark red, before a harried Lucien appeared, looking tired.

“Ianthe.”

She narrowed her eyes at the tone. She’d done her best to beat the impertinence out of him over the years, and yet, it always snuck in. Perhaps they were due for another conversation.

“You’re late,” she snapped. “Shall I remind you what a clock is?”

“I apologize,” Lucien murmured, softening his tone. “I was… researching.”

“The Archeron girls?”

“All of them. They’d been here all their lives, until Feyre left.”

“For Tamlin, that stupid brute,” she sighed. “Poor girl. If I’d noticed his… moods sooner, I might have been able to catch Feyre myself. But no, the idiot went off half-cocked.” She paused. “What did Feyre say about his disappearance?”

“She knows where he is,” Lucien said. “She answered in half-truths. Looked like she was about to throw up when I even asked. Her sister nearly ripped my head off.”

“Which one?”

“The eldest.”

“And what do you know about her?”

“She’s a bitch,” Lucien said plainly. “She claimed to be Feyre’s lawyer, but there’s tension there.”

Ianthe grinned. “Excellent. Any weak spot, use it. We’ll deal with the lawyer bit only when we have to. And the other sister?”

“Quiet as a mouse,” Lucien grinned. “Cute like one.”

Ianthe snorted. “Don’t underestimate her until we know more.”

When Ianthe first heard of Feyre, she thought she was just Tamlin’s mousy, timid girlfriend. Just something to amuse him when Ianthe didn’t have the time for him.

She’d met Feyre, once. Thin, too pale, and jumpy. Perhaps she’d neglected Tamlin too much. The poor girl had been terrified at everything. But when Ianthe shook her hand, the electric jolt she felt from Feyre had been a surprise. This girl was more powerful than she let on, or even knew. Feyre Archeron was a witch, just like her. And the power she possessed was greater than Ianthe could imagine. The Archerons were an old bloodline. Stealing power from one of them would make Ianthe more powerful than any witch who crossed her. But the power of _three_ Archeron sisters… Ianthe would be nearly unstoppable.

Ianthe loved power more than anything in the world.

“And of the rest of them?”

“They have two aunts, no one knows where they are. Not even them.”

Ianthe twisted a strand of hair around her finger. “We’ll have to revisit that another time. The sisters are the priority.”

“What should I tell them about Tamlin?” Lucien asked.

“Keep asking questions; it makes them nervous,” Ianthe said. “Especially the eldest. If you can get Feyre alone, she may crack without her sister to advise her. Just don’t fuck it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She heard the slightest hint of acid in his tone, but let it go. For now.

“If nothing else, try a different tactic if you must,” Ianthe said. “The quiet sister? Get close to her. She’s the peacekeeper. She might convince them to help you.”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now get out of my mirror,” Ianthe said. “Go make yourself useful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His image shimmered and disappeared.

If Feyre still didn’t crack, Ianthe would have to play her best card, and she needed to prepare.

She swept out her room, down the grand staircase, and into the garden of her large Beverly Hills mansion. A stone altar, disguised as a bench, sat in the middle of the courtyard, fenced in from prying eyes with high trees and manicured bushes.

Tamlin’s body lay prone on the altar, hair free of mud and blood. Ianthe had spent the past unpleasant night digging up his grave, cleverly disguised underneath a patch of cacti. One of the Archeron sisters must have magicked it to grow so fast.

She paused and admired him for a moment. He was still handsome, even in death. The moonlight shone off of his hair, his cheekbones. She knew if she lifted an eyelid, his eyes would still be green. Tamlin had been one of the few lovers she’d actually taken the time to learn. His body was familiar under her fingers. Every scar and muscle. A beautiful, terrible man. Feyre Archeron hadn’t known what a treasure she’d had in her bed.

“Soon, my love,” Ianthe whispered, hefting her book of shadows onto the altar. “I’ll see your eyes once again.” And Feyre Archeron would be that much closer to taking her last breath.

***

Nesta paged through the grimoire and scribbled notes, checking for more banishing spells. She’d decided she couldn’t afford to be afraid of her power, not when there was an actual threat at their door. This was worse than Tamlin’s ghost. This was much worse.

She thought of the witchfyre that had come when she’d called, even after years of smothering it. The fearsome rage, the thrill of it. The last thing they needed was to draw attention, but on the other hand… would an investigator really be missed, if he were to mysteriously disappear? Burnt to a crisp?

Nesta snorted to herself. Banishing spells it was. Send him back to L.A., that concrete oasis in the desert. She couldn’t think of a better description of hell.

Her phone dinged, jarring her out of her thoughts.

_DO NOT ANSWER: How’s things?_

That damn sheriff.

_DO NOT ANSWER: This is Cassian btw_

_DO NOT ANSWER: Off-duty. Not police biz._

_DO NOT ANSWER: Ur friend_

_DO NOT ANSWER: Nesta it’s me Cassian_

_Nesta:_ _Don’t you have anything better to do than harass me via text?_

_DO NOT ANSWER: Nope :)_

Dear Goddess. He used emojis. She nearly threw her phone.

_Nesta_ : _I’m busy. Leave me alone._

_DO NOT ANSWER:_ _Whatcha doing?_

_Nesta: Important things._

_DO NOT ANSWER: And those would be…?_

_Nesta: None of your business._

_DO NOT ANSWER: So you’re too busy for a friend?_

_Nesta: Absolutely. GO AWAY._

_DO NOT ANSWER: So we ARE friends! :)_

Nesta did throw her phone this time. It clattered across the table, knocking over a few candlesticks. Her phone buzzed again with another no doubt ridiculous text, and she slammed the grimoire shut. She was too angry to concentrate, and made a mental note to finish the banishing potion she’d started the other night, before he‘d barged in and ruined it.

Her phone buzzed again, this time, _incoming call: DO NOT ANSWER_ flashed across the screen. She stabbed the green button.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Morning!” Cassian said cheerfully. “How are my favorite sisters?”

“Busy,” Nesta said. “Did you call me to waste my time? Is that it?”

“Only partially,” Cassian sounded relaxed, like he had all the time in the world. Nesta wanted to scream. “I wanted to check in. You seemed really rattled from yesterday.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, it’s none of your business?”

“Vanserra hasn’t contacted you?” Nesta was surprised at the genuine concern in his tone, and annoyed at how much it didn’t bother her. She shoved away the flutter in her belly. 

“No,” she sighed. “But I can handle him if he does.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” This didn’t sound like a jab, but a compliment. Weird.

“You never answered my question,” Cassian said. She could hear the smirk in his voice, and considered throwing her phone again. “Too busy for friends today?”

“I’m not home,” Nesta lied. “If I’d known how annoying you were about your lack of friends, I wouldn’t have picked up the call. Go bother someone else.”

Cassian sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately, Az and Rhys had better things to do today. Feyre’s busy, and Elain told me you were a shut-in.”

“Hardly!” Nesta scoffed. “And how the hell do you know what my sisters are up to?”

“I’m beginning to suspect they’re ‘better things.’”

Nesta shot up from her seat. “ _Excuse_ me?” She whipped open the door to the workroom and stuck her head into the hallway. “Feyre! Elain!” No answer. The house groaned in its foundation. It was always a little unsettled when the Archerons, both old and young, weren’t home. She fought the panic rising in her stomach. _Where the hell are they?_

Cassian chuckled in her ear. “Relax, I ran into them at _Prythian_ with Rhys and Az. They decided your sisters were better company and told me to get lost. Elain said you hadn’t left the house in days.” He paused. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s your car in the driveway.”

“What do you - are you _outside?_ ” Nesta stomped to the door and ripped back the curtains. Sure enough, there he was in the yard, leaning against his car, phone to his ear. He grinned at her when he saw her.

“So you _are_ home,” Cassian sauntered towards the house. “Elain didn’t tell you I’d stop by?”

“No!” That little sneak. _I am_ so _going to hex her when she gets home_ , Nesta thought. She watched Cassian climb the stairs through the window, ignoring the flutter in her belly as he approached. He was dressed in street clothes, another pair of jeans that fit him criminally well, his beat up leather jacket stretching across his shoulders. _Nope, nope, nope,_ Nesta angrily shoved the thoughts out of her head. _We’ve got bigger problems right now._ Her dream came to mind again, and she nearly shied away from the door when he knocked. _Get a grip,_ she told herself, still clutching the phone. _It means nothing._

“Are you going to let me in?” Cassian tapped lightly on the door, voice echoing in her ear. “It’s me.”

She hit ‘end call’ and reluctantly reached for the doorknob. The door stuck slightly, and she had to use more force than usual to pull it open, as if it sensed Nesta’s displeasure. The house also didn’t like when men entered unannounced.

Cassian grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Hey, Ness.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Did Elain put you up to this?”

“Nah,” Cassian said. “I thought you’d want some company.”

“Goddess,” Nesta muttered. “You’re like a bad penny.”

“Thanks.” Cassian jerked his chin at her. “So, can I come inside, or what?”

“Fine,” Nesta grumbled. “Whatever.” She disappeared down the hallway, leaving Cassian in the foyer. He pushed the door shut, but found it hard to close completely, as if refusing to fully welcome him into the house. Weird. The hinges must be rusty.

He found Nesta in the kitchen, flipping through a weird cookbook that looked decades old. She didn’t acknowledge him as he slumped into a chair at the table. “So, what were you so busy with today?”

“None of your business,” she muttered, ferociously turning pages. “You’re off duty today?”

“In a manner of speaking. Crime doesn’t clock out at 5pm on Friday, even if I do.” Nesta snorted despite herself. “I’m technically always on call,” Cassian finished. He grinned. Her snort was a victory, as far as he was concerned. “But I just so happened to have a free afternoon.”

“Lucky you,” Nesta muttered, still paging through the grimoire for the banishing spell, and Cassian just watched her.

They sat in silence for awhile. Nesta was surprised Cassian was content to sit and watch her stomp around the kitchen, discreetly gathering herbs. She bristled at first, but the silence grew comfortable, and eventually, she felt her shoulders relax. 

At first, Cassian’s presence felt out of place, and the house seemed to agree. Floorboards creaked, walls groaned. Cassian didn’t seem to notice; he just watched Nesta. And she didn’t feel pinned under his gaze, not like with other men, long before. Cassian wasn’t looking at her like a piece of meat; instead, he studied her, as if with the intent to know, rather than possess. Something, deep inside her, felt settled. But that was ridiculous. She shook her head subtly and avoided his fiery hazel eyes as best she could. She needed to make this banishing spell as strong as it could go.

“What are you making?” Cassian asked after awhile, breaking the silence. “Some kind of soup?”

“Something like that.” Nesta shrugged a shoulder. “It’s a, uh, family recipe.”

“Great,” Cassian leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “I’m starving.”

Nesta whirled. “Who said I’m making lunch?”

“Aren’t you?” Cassian tilted his head. “Then what are you making?”

_Shoot_ . “Nevermind,” Nesta said. “It’s not that good.” She shoved the herbs into a bowl and tucked everything away. “Old recipes don’t turn out the way you want. And I’m out of some stuff.” _And I’m sure as hell not opening the workroom while you’re here._

“Then let’s go,” Cassian stood, and stretched. She tore her eyes away from where the edge of his t-shirt rode up, flashing a hint of tan skin and firm abs. _Get. A. Grip!_ She clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her palms. _You’re an Archeron woman. Mind over flesh._

“Go where?” Nesta grit out.

“To get lunch.” Nesta’s stomach rumbled in answer, and she dug her nails further into her palms. Cassian smirked. “Come on. My treat.”

“No thanks,” Nesta said. “I’ve got stuff-” she gestured weakly at the counter, and the mess on the countertop. “I need to clean this up.”

“It can wait,” Cassian said. “Come on.” He stretched a hand out to her and she drew back. He rolled his eyes. “I don’t bite.”

“Maybe I do,” Nesta retorted. Cassian threw back his head and laughed, and she hated how much she liked the sound.

“I don’t doubt that, sweetheart,” he said, still chuckling. “It’s lunch, not a last meal.”

_We’ll see about that_. Nesta sighed. “Fine.” She clutched the grimoire to her chest and inched to the workroom down the hall. “Give me one second.”

Cassian watched as she opened the door a crack and slipped inside, closing it firmly behind her. He glanced around the house again, at the distractingly large herb cabinet, the eerie odds and ends. The abundance of brooms, and the knife block filled with knives he’d never seen before. The closer he got, the more mysterious the beautiful Archeron sister became.

She’d told him a half-truth, about the cookbook. Family recipes. Even without his gift, the way she’d slunk into the room with it was more than odd. 

_Nesta Archeron is at the middle of a murder investigaion,_ he chastised himself. _Off duty or not, you’re still the sheriff_. No wonder she was still jumpy around him. But did she have reason to be? When Feyre told him the truth, it had been the truth. He should have asked Nesta as well.

He snapped out of his thoughts when Nesta slammed the door, shrugging a light jacket on, the movement graceful, like all of her movements. Weirdness or no, Nesta was beautiful. Her eyes flashed. “Are we going, or what?”

Cassian grinned. He liked her spirit. “Let’s go.”

Nesta was grateful he didn’t take them back to _Velaris_ . She didn’t have the energy to deal with another Knight brother. Instead, when he pulled into _Prythian_ , she saw her sisters’ figures in the front window, and raised her eyebrows. “I thought you were kidding when you said you ran into Feyre and Elain here.”

“Nope,” Cassian hopped out and waited for her at the entrance. “They were here when we got here. Said they walked.” He opened the door and gestured for Nesta to enter. “Far walk,” he mused. “It’s a long way.”

Feyre's taken to winnowing again. “Something like that,” Nesta muttered again, glimpsing Feyre laughing at something Rhys said. She didn’t see Cassian narrow his eyes at her half-answer.

“Nesta!” Elain cried when she saw her sister. “So glad you could join us!” She gestured to an empty seat next to her, Az on her other side. He watched Nesta approach with calculating eyes.

She glared. “Thanks for telling me you _left.”_

Feyre smirked. “We sent Cassian to get you.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up,” Nesta waited for them to take sips of their drinks, and twirled a finger under the table. _“Bitter bite, sugar’s light,”_ she mouthed.

Feyre and Elain spluttered as the sugar in their coffee turned to salt.

“Feeling _salty,_ Nesta?” Elain coughed.

Feyre shook her head, grabbing Rhys’s coffee and swigging it. “I think she’s feeling wi- _bitchy_.”

“Go fall off a broom,” Nesta snapped before she could stop herself. _Go fall off a broom_ , a favorite childhood insult. And a stupidly obvious one, if there ever was.

The Knight brothers stared. Cassian crossed his arms and didn’t hide his grin as he watched Feyre and Elain glare at Nesta. Rhys looked slightly afraid and inched closer to Feyre. And Azriel, Azriel’s eyes never missed anything. His gaze was shrewd, sharp, as it flitted from Nesta to Feyre before softening when he looked at Elain.

Rhys nudged Cassian and shot him a look Cassian couldn’t misinterpret. _What the fuck is up with these girls?_

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, we’ll just leave you to it,” Elain said, shooting a small, evil smile at Feyre. “You’re right, we ditched you, and we’re sorry. Cassian said he’d be happy to keep you company while we ran some errands.” Azriel tried not to flinch when she laid her hand on his shoulder, fingers resting comfortably, as if she did this every day. “Rhys? Feyre? Didn’t you have to-”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Just get the fuck out, I don’t want to hear whatever lie you’ve cooked up.” She squeezed her fists again, feeling her nails make indents into her palms. She felt her fyre start to wake.

Feyre and Elain grinned and practically pulled Rhys and Az out of the cafe. “Have a good afternoon! We’ll see you back at the house!”

Cassian laughed when Nesta, flustered, flipped her sisters off and they cackled all the way out.

“Don’t start,” she snapped at him. Her palms felt dangerously hot and tingly.

“Is my company really that terrible?” Cassian asked. “You look like you’ve been told this is your last meal.”

“I don’t like being played with,” Nesta grumbled. “And I don’t like surprises and I definitely don’t like being the butt of my sisters’ jokes.”

“If this is a joke, your sisters are a lot nicer than my brothers,” Cassian said. “Usually, one or more end up with something either bruised, bloody, or broken. And that’s a good day.”

Nesta pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “And a bad day?”

“Let’s just say we haven’t had a ‘bad’ day since we were kids,” Cassian said. “And that was mostly because Rhys’s mom nearly killed us altogether for fucking with each other.” He grinned, but she saw a shadow in his eyes. “To be fair to her, we were little shits all the time, and didn’t know when too far was too far.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow, the fire in her belly and fingertips left to smolder. “Rhys’s mother? I thought…”

“We’re adopted,” Cassian said. “Az and I. Sort of unofficially. Rhys’s parents took us in when we were kids.” He left it at that, and Nesta could tell she shouldn’t push it.

“I guess you know our aunts practically adopted us too,” she said instead, to her surprise. “Our parents died when we were young.”

“I know,” Cassian said, and winced. “I mean, I know that much, from what I heard around town. That your aunts raised you.”

“Did the gossips tell you they killed our mother and kidnapped us to raise as virgin sacrifices?” Nesta asked. “Because only part of that is true.” Cassian’s jaw dropped, and Nesta cackled. “Can I take a picture of your face to send to my sisters?”

Cassian cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms. She’d nearly had him. He sensed the lie, but a kernel of truth shone out, just enough to surprise him.

“You’re still here,” he said instead. “You must not have been a very good sacrifice.”

“No, they stopped sacrificing virgins centuries ago,” Nesta said. “Too barbaric. Turns out a non-virgin is just as good.”

Cassian barked a laugh, and Nesta bit back another smile, shoving down the butterflies that returned in full force. “I didn’t realize you were so funny.” The butterflies turned to ash as the fire in her belly flared to life.

“Goodbye and fuck off,” she said, pushing her chair back.

“Nesta,” Cassian put his hand on her knee, and snatched it back when her eyes hardened. “Sorry. Ah. That came out wrong. I meant-”

“No, I get it, everyone’s used to bitter Nesta.”

Cassian opened his mouth to reply when a server appeared at his elbow. “Hi, welcome to _Prhythian_ , what can I get you?” His eyes narrowed when he saw Nesta, and she grit her teeth when she recognized him. “Archeron.”

“Great, just what I need,” she muttered. “The hell do you want, Graysen?”

“I didn’t realize the Archerons were allowed back in town.”

“I didn’t realize Prythian hired animals now,” she shrugged. “I’ll have a blueberry scone and a latte. Try not to breathe on it.”

Cassian cleared his throat when Graysen opened his mouth. “Americano.” He wished he had his badge on him for effect. “That’s it, thanks.”

Graysen turned his sneer on Nesta, but when he recognized Cassian, he froze. “Sheriff. Sure, I’ll just-” he turned and walked (more like scuttled, in Nesta’s opinion) back to the counter.

“Who was that?” Cassian asked. “Another friend?”

“I’d rather eat glass,” Nesta snapped, and Cassian raised his eyebrows. She shrugged.

He watched her. She shifted under his gaze, but found she could meet his eyes without flinching. “You know I have a ton of questions.”

“You’re off duty, I don’t have to answer any of them,” Nesta said.

“No, you don’t,” Cassian agreed. “But… how about a trade? I ask you a question, you get to ask me one?”

Nesta twisted a strand of hair around her finger, absentmindedly. “I reserve the right to pass.”

“Fine. Why did you look like you wanted to gouge his eyes out with a fork?”

“He was Elain’s… fiancé, once upon a time,” she said. “One of the biggest jackasses in town in high school. I guess some things never change.”

“And why-”

“Nope, my turn.” Nesta cut him off. She studied him. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“With us.” Nesta leaned in. “I know you’re not coming by for my sparkling personality, and I doubt you give that much of a shit about Feyre’s troubles.”

“I want to help,” Cassian said, surprising himself. “Truly. When I’d heard there were people in the house on the hill, I showed up to check for trespassers. But when it was you three…”

“What, you think we can’t protect ourselves?” Nesta’s voice was glacial. “You’ve made that very clear and I’m really sick of it.”

“I think you’re used to looking out for each other when no one else could or would,” Cassian said, and Nesta flinched. “And if I can do something to help, especially with Vanserra, I want to.”

“We’re not charity cases.”

“No,” Cassian agreed. “But it’s easier to fight when you’ve got someone at your back.”

“And I suppose that would be you.”

“And my brothers,” Cassian said and grinned. “I don’t think Feyre and Elain would mind.”

Nesta made a face. “If either of your brothers so much as touch a hair on their heads-”

“They’d never,” Cassian said, the fire in his eyes flaring to life. “None of us would treat a woman, anyone, the way Tamlin did.”

Nesta met his gaze, fire to fire. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Graysen returned, plunking Nesta’s latte down with enough force liquid sloshed from the sides. He bent to hand her the plate, but at the last moment, it slipped from his hand, and the scone tumbled into Nesta’s lap.

“Sorry about that,” he said, tone insincere. “That was the last one too. Oh well.” He nodded to Cassian and put his coffee down. Cassian met his eyes, face stony, and Graysen went scuttling back to the counter.

“Asshole,” Nesta spat, brushing crumbs from her lap. “Goddess-damn it.” 

And perhaps it was because she’d already given into the impulse of her power that day, she gave in again. She ran her finger through the puddle of spilled coffee, casual enough for Cassian not to notice.

She traced a faint sigil along the tabletop, for staying power. _Wormwood would have been better,_ she mused. _But a sigil works in a pinch._ Small charms like turning sugar to salt wasn’t difficult, and didn’t need much magic. But with this hex, she needed a little more power. And she wanted it to stick around awhile.

Nesta fixed her eyes on Graysen. _Eye of newt and slime of snail…_

“My turn,” Cassian said.

“Fine,” she murmured absently. _Large in snout and curly tail…_

“What aren’t you telling me?” Cassian said.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Nesta replied. _Wing of bat and ashen twig…_

“That doesn’t count as a pass, you have to answer.”

_Graysen, Graysen, what a pig._ She felt the sigil flicker warmly underneath her palm before fading into the table. She grinned when Graysen suddenly yelped and jumped, as if he’d been electrocuted.

“What aren’t you telling me? What’s your deal with Graysen, the townspeople?”

Nesta turned back and stirred her coffee, counter-clockwise to banish anything, magical or non, just in case Graysen had decided to fuck with her by spitting in her drink. “That was two questions.”

“Fine. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I still have no idea what you mean.” She took a sip, and rolled her eyes when he glared at her. “I don’t have to spill my guts to you.”

“Fine, I’ll change my question. If Graysen was Elain’s fiance, why does he look like he’s out for your blood?”

“I convinced her to break off the engagement,” Nesta said. “She was about to graduate high school, he was cute and in college. We didn’t really have any… plans after graduation. So getting married seemed like a good idea.” She snorted. “It wasn’t. He was even less pleasant than he is now. He liked Elain because she was shy, and pretty, and thought he hung the moon. When he found out I told her to break it off, he decided he’d spend the rest of his life hating my guts.” She chuckled. “I guess he’s still butthurt.”

“But that’s not all,” Cassian guessed, sensing a hesitation. The tugging in his gut told him this was truth, but a half-truth. Nesta Archeron was full of half-truths.

“He was friends with someone I… dated.” Nesta said, and dropped her gaze. “Someone even worse than him.”

“Who-”

“What do your brothers want with my sisters?” Nesta cut him off. “They’re almost as annoying as you.”

Cassian laughed, and tucked the redirection away for later. “I think they like your sisters, a lot.” When Nesta pursed her lips, he leaned in. “I told you. They’d never hurt your sisters. I promise.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Nesta said. “And look where we are.”

“Tamlin.”

Nesta shrugged.

“Look,” Cassian said. “I meant it when I wanted to help.” He put his hand up when Nesta opened her mouth to argue. “And I don’t like Vanserra. He’s not asking questions so much as making accusations. He’s clearly upsetting all of you, especially Feyre. And,” he sighed. “This toes the line of obstructing justice, but I really don’t give a fuck. I want to help get him off your back, hopefully for good.”

Nesta stared. “And how do you expect to do that?”

“Well…” Cassian shrugged, a little sheepishly. “I haven’t completely thought it out. But I know I can do something.” 

She bit her lip, and looked at Cassian. He wasn’t lying. He sat, shoulders back, confident.

“Will you trust me?” He asked. “And let me, and my brothers, help?”

_Will you trust me?_

Would she? Did she?

_Never,_ a voice whispered inside her. _We don’t trust men, remember? Period. Never again._

But when she looked again at Cassian sitting across from her, the voice retreated. He looked determined. Earnest. Clever. Powerful. Almost... general-like. So unlike the weak man her father had been. So unlike the weak men who flocked her and her sisters.

“Alright,” her voice was a whisper, and she cleared her throat. “If you’re willing to help us, I’d rather have some… official help getting Vanserra to fuck off and leave us alone.”

Cassian smiled and extended his hand to shake. “Let’s get this motherfucker out of Salem.”

Nesta was surprised at how hard she laughed. The laughter, almost rusty, crept up from her stomach and out her throat. For a moment, she felt like she was sitting with Amren and Mor, and they’d just told her everything was going to be alright. When she opened her eyes, she felt rather than saw Cassian’s gaze, soft on her face.

And for a moment, she felt warm, in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. Cassian Knight was more dangerous than any of the cheats and liars and assholes she and her sisters had weathered. A good man… No, she wouldn’t even finish it. _A good man_ … snippets of a dream danced through her mind, and she pushed them away.

Cassian reached for her hand to shake, and she felt electricity scatter along her fingertips. Cassian’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t react. He held her hand for slightly longer than she would have liked before letting go. When she dropped her hand to her lap, she gave it a subtle flex. Her magic was acting up, and she didn’t know if that was because she was once again calling to it, or if she was losing the little control she had.

A squeal shattered the moment, and they whipped their heads around to see Graysen dash around the counter towards the door, face in his hands.

“What the-” Cassian started, but Nesta cackled.

“You!” Graysen snarled at her as he passed by. “You did this! Archeron Bitch!”

Before Cassian could confront him, Graysen was out the door and running. As Graysen disappeared out of sight, Cassian swore he saw through the cafe window, what looked like the outline of a pig’s snout cradled in his face, and sticking out from his waistband, a pink curly tail.

Nesta bit her lip. Her sisters would cackle like hags when she told them that night, and Graysen would return to work the next week, tail and snout-free, but embarrassed. And whenever Nesta grinned at him from that day on, he’d flinch, and hide in the back until his shift was over.

Cassian looked back at Nesta, and wondered, not for the last time, what secrets the Archeron sisters hid in their large house on the hill.

***

Investigator Lucien Vanserra stared up at the Archeron house. The door had refused to budge when he went for the handle, even with the charm Ianthe had sent him with. It was well-warded. The sisters were skilled. His eye whirred, Ianthe trying to get a better glimpse of the house, and sensing for any weak links.

He whirled when he heard the sounds of a car approach. Elain Archeron, the prettiest sister in his opinion, got out of the car, with the deputy. The deputy glared at him. Elain just stared.

“Investigator,” she said, approaching slowly. Deputy Knight trailed close behind. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually, I was looking for you,” he smiled and descended the porch steps, hand outstretched. “I came to apologize about what happened the other day. I didn’t mean to upset your sister.”

“Yes,” Elain shuffled her feet and gingerly took his hand. “Ah, Nesta can be protective of us.”

“Naturally,” Lucien said. Elain fidgeted when he wouldn’t let go of her hand. “I’d like to take you to dinner, to apologize properly.”

Elain pulled her hand back. “Me? I, well, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She glanced over her shoulder at Az for help.

“It would be off record,” he assured her. “Except if you wanted to tell me about that,” he playfully jerked his head at Tamlin’s dusty old car, still parked in the driveway. Elain resolved to have Nesta burn it when she got home.

“Investigator, that would be a conflict of interest, don’t you think?” Azriel asked, voice cold. “Elain, you don’t have to go.”

She stared at Lucien. Her magic tingled, but faded. There was something about him… and that eye… but no images danced through her head. Her Sight was useless, and she didn’t know why. Something about him raised her hackles, and she knew he raised Nesta’s too.

“Of course not,” Lucien promised. “It was a joke, a poor one.” He smiled at Elain. “And you’re right, I would like to apologize to your sisters. I just doubt Nesta or Feyre would be as receptive to an apology dinner; I also came to ask your help in properly doing so.” He leaned in. “Off-record, but Tamlin was my best friend. That’s partially why I’m pushing this so much.”

“Then why didn’t Feyre recognize you? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Lucien sighed. “I knew he’d had a girlfriend, and that he kept her close to home. We didn’t talk about it much. He said she was always… ill. Sad. Tired. I didn’t want to disturb her.” He sighed. “I’d had no idea who Feyre _was_ until this case landed on my desk.”

“Why should she believe you?” Azriel crossed his arms, and Elain was grateful he was beside her.

“Because it’s true. And I feel bad you all got dragged into it,” Lucien said to Elain. “And I think I’ve found something important to the case, about where he might be.”

“And what would that be?” Elain asked, crossing her own arms. _He can’t know anything, he won’t, we covered our tracks…_ “My sisters and I would be happy to come to the station and speak to you ourselves.”

Lucien shrugged. “I don’t want to upset Feyre any more than I have. It’s personal stuff, about Tamlin. I don’t think she knows.”

“I won’t keep secrets from my sister.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m only asking if you can break it to her so she’s not shocked when I officially inform you all.” He grinned at Elain again. “Please, Elain. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow night at eight.”

“She hasn’t agreed,” Azriel grit out.

“Fine,” Elain cut him off. “Eight o’clock at Velaris. You have an hour. Then I expect you to inform my sisters as well.”

“Deal,” Lucien reached for her hand again, and pressed a kiss to the back of it. She couldn’t hide the blush that rose to her cheeks. He _was_ handsome, even if something about him made her uneasy.

“Have a good day, Vanserra,” Azriel prompted, following Elain as she ascended the porch steps. “See you at the station.” _And nowhere else_ hung in the air, unspoken.

Lucien ignored him. “See you tomorrow, Elain,” he called, and got into his sleek car, driving off.

He’d done it. Ianthe would be pleased. And the sooner he filled his debt, the sooner he’d be free.

***

“I don’t like it,” Az said when they were seated at the kitchen table, with mugs of tea. “He’s tricky. And unprofessional..”

Elain nodded. “I don’t like it either. But I need to know what he knows. It’s not fair to us if we stumble through this investigation without knowing exactly what he’s got.”

She took a sip of her tea and tried not to ogle Az too much as he sat, lost in thought. He wasn’t as confident as Cassian or as charismatic as Rhys. He was intense, thoughtful. Even-keeled. Tall and well-built like his brothers, but Elain thought him the best looking of them all. Her gaze drifted to his scarred hands. Like her, he had secrets.

“I don’t want to… overstep,” Azriel said, and her eyes flew to his face. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her watching him. “But I’d like to come with.”

“To dinner? I don’t think Lucien’s into throuples,” Elain giggled when Azriel choked on his tea.

He glared at her. “No, smart-ass. Just to Velaris. I’d sit in the back, keep an eye on him.” He paused. “But I understand if that’s invasive…”

“ _No_ ,” Elain sighed in relief. “Actually, I’d feel better if you were there. I picked Velaris on purpose.”

Azriel smiled back, and Elain felt warm. His dark eyes lit up when he smiled. His face was transformed. Azriel was handsome when he was serious, but when he smiled, it was like the moon. Elain knew she would fall in love with it.

Her vision came to mind, of him and his brothers and his soulful eyes, and she knew she could trust him. Even if she couldn’t piece anything fully together, even if Nesta was determined to shake these men from their lives, Elain knew they were safe.

“I’ll have your back,” Azriel said to her. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” Elain said. She stretched her hand and rested it on top of his scarred one. He flinched, ever so slightly. “I really do appreciate it. And I think if you weren’t there, Nesta would be, and she’d _definitely_ not be open to a throuple.”

Azriel laughed aloud, and Elain felt even warmer. “I don’t think Vanserra would be into it either.”

They laughed, and Azriel let her hand rest on his a moment longer than he dared before slipping it away. His hand felt like pins and needles, and he resisted the urge to shake it.

“Oh, your phone,” Elain nudged it to him. “Cassian’s calling.”

Az stared at the silent phone. Then, it lit up with Cassian’s name across the screen, buzzing. “How did you know?”

“Ah, Nesta texted me,” Elain lied. _I’m an idiot_. “She says he’s busy and she needs a ride home.”

“We have a shift tonight,” Azriel said. “I should head out and rescue Nesta.”

Elain waved him off. “Cassian’s the one you should be worried about.”

“I think you’re right.” Azriel couldn’t resist giving Elain’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before slipping out the backdoor. He couldn’t resist touching her, one last time.

When he was gone, the sound of his laughter hung in her ears, and Elain felt safer than she had in a long time. Someone was finally on their side.

***

“So what was that with Nesta earlier?” Rhys asked Feyre as they strolled along the beach, shoes in hand. After they’d left Cassian and Nesta to duke it out, Az and Elain returned to the house. Feyre and Rhys decided they’d rather walk.

They found themselves at the beach, and Feyre had missed it. Years of spending her childhood playing in the sand, the sea… she inhaled deeply. It smelled of home.

“What was what?” Feyre asked.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Rhys said. “Something very obvious is up with her. With _all_ of you.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Feyre said. “We just played a little trick on her. Cassian loves riling her up, and she needs some of that.”

“Feeling ‘wi-bitchy?’ ‘Go fall off a broom’?” Rhys watched her dip a toe into the surf. Early October was growing chilly, and she fought back a shiver. “Weird jokes.”

Feyre shrugged a shoulder. “Inside jokes. Nothing crazy.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m sure you have those with your brothers.”

“Sure.” Rhys watched the sunlight catch the gold in her hair. He decided Feyre Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, both _in_ and out of his dreams. “You and Nesta seem better.”

“We are, thanks to your great advice.” Feyre winked. “We had a small, long overdue talk.”

“Happy to be of service,” Rhy grinned. “Returning the favor for finding my bracelet.”

Feyre wrapped her arms around herself against the chilly breeze, and watched the horizon. “Can I ask… who’s Luna?”

Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets beside her. “I don’t suppose you’d let me pass on that.”

“Of course,” Feyre said. “Trust me. I get it.”

“I think you do,” Rhys said softly. “But it’s okay. Luna was my sister. She… died. After Az and Cass came to live with us.”

“You mean, they’re adopted?”

“They’re as good as blood. They miss her like I do.”

“What happened?”

“Pass,” Rhys’s voice was soft, but Feyre heard the edge of grief that never went away. She heard it in her own voice often enough.

“Of course,” Feyre said. “Thanks. For telling me.” She turned back to him. “My parents died when we were young. I know what it’s like, to lose someone.”

Rhys nodded, contemplating the horizon. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” She said.

A beat passed, silence. Feyre and Rhys stood side by side, lost in thought, in echoes of grief. She thought about reaching for his hand, his shoulder, something. She thought about her dreams and wondered if he’d feel the same in the flesh.

Then Rhys smiled, an effort to change the mood. “So were you jealous I had some other girl’s bracelet?”

“Are we in high school?” Feyre asked. “Goddess, no. I’m not that ridiculous.”

Rhys shifted foot to foot. “Can we go back to the beach, my feet are numb.”

“Can’t take it?” Feyre teased. “I bet you I can keep my feet in longer.”

“Now you really sound like a high schooler, Feyre d- Feyre.” Rhys yelped as she kicked water at him. “Uncalled for!”

“Was it?” She teased.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rhys shivered, digging his feet into the sand. “That’s so cold. Go fall off a broom,” he mimicked Feyre.

She stuck her tongue out at him. _We’re idiots, and have none but ourselves to blame. Good Goddess._

“Can I ask _you_ a question? A rude one?” Rhys asked.

“My favorite kind,” Feyre drawled, finally stepping out of the frigid water and into the damp sand.

Rhys’s eyes gleamed. He’d tuck that away for later. “Were your aunts really witches?”

Feyre chewed her lower lip. “What have you heard?”

“The old gossips in town, you know, the usual.” Rhys shrugged. “That they ate babies and sacrificed virgins. The usual sort of stuff.”

Feyre laughed. “Well they definitely didn’t eat babies. And I don’t remember any virgin sacrifices.” Rhys laughed. She sighed, and sat down in the sand. “I guess if you’re going to hear it everywhere, then I’ll tell you the real story.”

“I have questions,” Rhys said quickly, sitting down beside her. “You have no idea, some of the shit I’ve heard.”

“They were, _are_ … witches.”

Rhys furrowed his brow. “Like, Wiccans?”

_Sure, close enough._ “Yes.”

“Like, wave wands and stir cauldrons and play quidditch?”

“You’ve been reading way too much Harry Potter,” Feyre nudged him with her shoulder. “Wicca isn’t all about… the usual witch stereotypes.”

Rhys leaned back on his hands, wind blowing some of his dark hair into his eyes. “And you guys are ‘witches’ too.”

_You have no idea._ “Yep,” Feyre ran her hands through the sand. “We dance naked under the full moon and worship the devil.” Rhys’s eyes widened, and she cackled. “Gotcha. Nah. We’re normal people. And we only dance naked during the summer solstice.”

“Shame we’ve passed it, I would have liked to come,” Rhys said. Feyre shivered. A thought struck her.

“Well… we’re celebrating Samhain this year. Halloween.” She tilted her head at him. “Would it be weird if I invited you? And your brothers?”

“You wouldn’t mind us barging in? Your sisters wouldn’t?” Rhys stared at her, eyes liquid. “Would we have to get naked?” _I wish._

“No,” Feyre laughed and tried not to blush. “Just normal Samhain stuff.”

“And that would be?”

“You’ll just have to come find out,” Feyre teased. “Unless you’re too chicken?”

“I’m coming,” Rhys said. “But I’m holding you to the naked solstice thing for later.” he sprang up out of the sand. “And I decided I might beat you at sticking our feet in the water after all.” He took off towards the water. “Unless you’re chicken!”

Feyre laughed and followed him in.

She won. Rhys didn’t have the advantage of using a charm to warm the stones under her feet. But she still could have beat him without it.

***

_Feyre had her legs wrapped around him. Rhys lifted his head from her breast to see her head thrown back, eyes shut in ecstasy as his hand slid down her body-_

Rhys opened his eyes and sat upright, sweaty, hot, and aching for Feyre.

“What the fuck?” He whispered.

They’d tossed innuendos and playful glances all afternoon. Feyre avoided them sometimes. And sometimes, he swore he saw the same heat in her eyes as he did in his dreams. She was so hot and cold. Nothing made sense.

But these dreams… and the shadows. He saw shadows around her always, warm darkness that seemed to carry her, as if flitting from place to place. The darkness was almost a lover. He felt that way himself.

He felt guilty for how often he dreamt of Feyre like this. Some dreams were more explicit than others. This one felt so real. His lips felt swollen from kissing her. The space next to him was warm, as if she’d been lying there. And his dick… he shifted uncomfortably.

_Feyre darling,_ he called her in his dreams. She’d moaned and kissed him harder. Each dream seemed more real than the last.

Rhys shook his head and flopped onto his back. He was losing his mind. He must be. It was like Feyre had him under some sort of spell…

_That’s impossible,_ he thought.

The thought followed him back into sleep, this time dreamless. But he swore he could smell Feyre on his sheets when he woke in the morning. And when he went to make his bed, he found a single strand of golden brown hair on his pillow.


	8. Dream a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make a dig at liberal arts majors in this and I just want you all to know that I hold a BA in English Literature (much to my engineer grandfather’s dismay) and look at me now - cooped up in my house writing YA fanfiction while ignoring my real job. Who’s the real winner now, grandpa!!!!  
> Also the rating WILL be going up soon, I just have to write myself from point A to a spicy point B…
> 
> Songs this chapter:  
> -Howl, Florence + The Machine  
> -Kind of Woman, Stevie Nicks  
> -Three Wishes, The Pierces  
> -Case of You, Joni Mitchell (Practical Magic soundtrack)  
> -Cherry, Lana Del Rey  
> -Love Song, Lana Del Rey  
> -Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac

_Oh you are in my blood like holy wine, you taste so bitter and so sweet,_   
_Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling, and I would still be on my feet,_   
_Oh I would still be on my feet_   
_I am a lonely painter, I live in a box of paints_   
_I'm frightened by the devil, and I'm drawn to those that ain't afraid_

_-A Case of You, Joni Mitchell_

_Dream a dream, here's a scene,  
Touch me anywhere 'cause I'm your baby,   
Grab my waist, don't waste any part, I believe that you see me for who I am  
So spill my clothes on the floor of your new car_

_-Love Song, Lana Del Rey_

_She is like a cat in the dark and then she is the darkness  
She rules her life like a fine skylark  
And when the sky is starless, all your life you've never seen  
A woman taken by the wind, would you stay if she promised you heaven?  
Will you ever win?_

_-Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac_

Thunder rumbled, and the evening sky was heavy with clouds. Nesta stared at the firepit, arms crossed. Elain and Feyre stood across from her, waiting, watching.

“You should try it,” Elain said. “Before it rains.”

“The fyre would work even if it did,” Nesta said absently. Her hands tingled. Casting spells was one thing, but calling the fyre… 

She looked back at her sisters. “What if I can’t do it?”

“Aunt Amren would say there’s no room for ‘what if’ in a spell,” Feyre said.

“This isn’t a spell.” Nesta snapped, and winced. “Sorry. But, Goddess, the last time I used it we were literally in danger.”

Feyre and Elain looked at each other, then back to Nesta.

“What?”

“What if…” Elain started. Feyre was already grinning.

“Heads up!” She shimmered and disappeared, only to reappear behind Nesta, and gave her a light shove.

“Feyre!” Nesta stumbled and caught herself, whipping around, but Feyre was gone, winnowing across the lawn. “Come back here!”

“ _O field in the sun where the green grass grows, and the morning birds call to the sea_ ,” Elain started to sing, and the plants under Nesta’s feet began to tremble.

“Elain, don’t you dare-”

“ _I ca_ _ll to the land with the seeds that I sow, and the land grows for me,”_ she sang, and vines wrapped around Nesta’s ankles, pinning her to the spot. “Go for it, Feyre!” She called.

Feyre winnowed back, pelted Nesta with a tomato from the garden, and winnowed away.

“You _bitches!_ ” Nesta shrieked. “I’m going to hex you into next week! You’re going to wake up covered in pox! You’re so dead!”

Elain cackled and kept singing, and the vines snaked up Nesta’s legs to her knees. Nesta shrieked again, her palms tingling.

Feyre winnowed back and threw another tomato, catching Nesta in the side of the head. It splattered wetly, seeds everywhere. “Feyre!” Nesta cried, reaching a hand out. Her palm felt hot, but nowhere near like witchfyre.

Feyre laughed and winnowed away again. “Not at me! The fire pit!”

“Fuck you!”

“ _Oak and pine, rosemary and thyme,”_ Elain sang, “ _Flourish and seed, slither and weave.”_

Nesta growled as vines crept further to her waist. “Goddess damn it, Elain!” She struggled, but the vines wrapped tighter. _She asked for it._ “Dirt and stone and blood and bone, shiver and shake, spell will break,” she spat at Elain. The vines froze, and trembled. Elain hummed harder.

“Cheater poor, spells endure,” Feyre called, winnowing back to throw more tomatoes. The vines resumed their crawl along Nesta’s body.

“Let me _go!_ ” Nesta shrieked. “I’ll turn you into toads! You’ll be spitting slugs for a week!” A vine wrapped around her mouth. Nesta raised her hands again, palms hot, and reached into the well of power inside.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Feyre taunted.

“Come on, Nesta, you can do it!” Elain said

Nesta closed her eyes and turned inward. She forgot what the overwhelming feeling of the fyre felt like, flickering underneath the surface. It threatened to swallow her whole.

She shied away. Her palms glowed. Against the wave of power was another wave of anxiety, stamping the flames until nothing was left, and her fyre sputtered. Smoke rose from her fingertips, and Nesta slumped against the vines.

“Elain,” Feyre said, appearing next to Nesta. “I think she’s had enough.”

“ _Harvest and crop, time to stop,_ ” Elain sang softy, and the vines retreated. 

Nesta angrily kicked them away and raked her hands through her hair. “What the fuck was that?”

“We thought…” Feyre sighed. “We thought maybe you could do it again, if you felt you were in danger.”

“It was my idea,” Elain rushed. “All of it.”

Nesta swiped tomato juice from her cheek. “Even the tomatoes?”

“No, those were mine,” Feyre couldn’t help her snort.

Nesta’s face relaxed, and then she began to laugh. Feyre and Elain looked at each other again, and then joined her.

Nesta laughed so hard she sat abruptly, arms clasping her ribs. Feyre and Elain doubled over, and the sisters laughed together for the first time in a very long time.

Eventually, they lay on their backs, heads in a circle, and sighed. Nesta wiped stray tears from her eyes. “Oh Goddess, I needed that.”

“Me too,” Feyre said. “I’m so sorry about the tomatoes. I thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“What exactly was your plan? Piss me off?”

“Pretty much,” Elain said. “We figured if we made you mad enough, it might just light itself.”

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Nesta admitted.

“What happened?” Feyre asked. “Are you alright?”

Nesta shrugged and watched the sky. Thunderclouds were still rolling in, but the sky had yet to rain. “It was… too much.”

“You can try again later,” Elain said. “Aunt Mor says-”

“Magic isn’t in the power, it’s in the practice,” Nesta finished. “I know. I just…” She trailed off. Feyre and Elain let her. The three sisters watched the sky darken in silence, and shivered as the wind picked up. Eventually, Elain sat up and checked her phone. “I need to get ready for dinner.”

“I’m not happy about this,” Nesta announced, standing to follow her into the house. “I don’t care if Azriel is there to keep an eye on you. I don’t think you should go.”

“We don’t know what Vanserra has on us, or Tamlin,” Feyre said. “I can’t believe he was Tamlin’s best friend. Tamlin _never_ mentioned him.”

“He said Tamlin never mentioned you either,” Elain said. “It sounds like he kept things separate.”

“Tell me about it,” Feyre muttered, eyes glazing over, before shaking herself back to the present. “Be careful. And text us when you’re on your way back!”

“Az is picking me up _and_ driving me home,” Elain said. “And I told Lucien I’d only be there for an hour.”

“Forty five minutes too long,” Nesta muttered, going to the cauldron left simmering on the stove. She poured some of the contents into a glass flask and handed it to Elain. “Pour this in his drink once it’s over.”

“Banishing potion?” Elain asked, examining the amber liquid inside. “What did you use? Nettle?”

“Elderberry,” Nesta said. “And if there’s too much and he dies, well, oops.”

“Nesta!” Elain cried. “We buried one body. I don’t think we can get away with two.”

“We haven’t even gotten away with one,” Feyre muttered, slumping at the table with a cup of tea. “But honestly? If we could get away with it, I’d totally just bury his body in a heartbeat. Goddess, I’m so tired of this.”

“You haven’t had any more dreams from Tamlin?” Nesta asked. “That banishing spell worked, at least?”

“Yes,” Feyre said, and then her cheeks turned pink. “No more dreams.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing!” Feyre cried. “I just-I told Rhys about Samhain. And told him to invite Cassian and Azriel.” She couldn’t tell her sisters about the dreams, not yet.

Nesta blinked. “You did _what?_ ”

“It just popped out!” Feyre said. “Rhys was asking me about the aunts, saying the locals have been slandering us, calling us witches, and was curious about the truth. So I invited him.”

“Are you crazy?” Nesta cried. “I cannot handle covering up the murder of your ex boyfriend _and_ entertaining your new one while pretending to celebrate Samhain like a mortal.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Feyre argued. “He’s a friend. They’re all friends. They’re here to protect us!”

“We can protect ourselves,” Nesta gestured to the cauldron. “Especially against a mortal investigator.”

“I’d like it if they’d come,” Elain said. “It would be nice, since they’ve done so much for us.”

Nesta threw up her hands. “Whatever, but when they start asking questions, _and they will_ ,” she glared at her sisters, “ _you_ get to make up excuses. I’m tired of lying. Especially to Cassian. It makes me… uneasy.”

Elain and Feyre shared a smirk. “Does it?”

“Oh fuck off,” Nesta grumbled. “Don’t you have to go get ready for your date with the man who’s trying to put us in prison?”

“It’s not a date!” Elain cried. “And Az will be there.”

“So, a date,” Feyre teased. “He’s picking you up and taking you home. You just won’t actually eat the meal with him.”

“Oh shut up,” Elain muttered, and tramped up the stairs.

Nesta sighed and began cleaning up. This batch of potion had turned out way better than the first one, even before Cassian had barged in and interrupted everything. Nesta had forgotten how much she enjoyed brewing.

“I’m sorry if inviting the guys upset you,” Feyre said. She fiddled with the string on the teabag. “It really did just pop out.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta sat down across from her. “I’m just bitching for the hell of it.” Feyre smiled slightly. “But it did take me off guard,” Nesta continued. “And it really is going to be hard to pretend to be normal. I’m not… good at lying to Cassian,” she admitted. “And I have no idea why, and it’s driving me absolutely insane.”

“Weirdly, me too,” Feyre said. “It’s like he can sort of, _sense_ , when you’re lying.”

“You don’t think he’s got _powers,_ do you?”

“No,” Feyre shook her head. “If anything, you’d pick up on it. And Elain would have Seen it in his aura.”

“Weird,” Nesta muttered. “I just hope she can lie to Vanserra.”

“What do you think he knows?”

“He can’t know much. And if he _does_ know more, well…” Nesta waved her hand at the grimoire. “We’ve got options.”

“What would the aunts say,” Feyre mused. “We’re abusing our powers.”

“We’re protecting the family. And I think they’d agree with me.”

Feyre shrugged, and jumped when a knock at the front door rang through the house.

“That’s Az!” Elain called from upstairs. “Will you let him in?”

Nesta waved Feyre to the door and started shoving potion supplies into cupboards and drawers. “Keep him in the hallway,” she hissed, lifting the heavy cauldron into the sink.

She could hear Azriel and Elain murmur in the hall, before the door slammed, and hoped Elain knew what she was doing.

***

When Azriel and Elain arrived at Velaris, he turned off the engine and they sat for a moment in silence.

“You go in first,” Azriel said. “I’ll slip in through the back. You told him one hour, so stick to it. Don’t let him try to persuade you to stay longer.” Elain nodded. “Rhys will also keep an eye on you. He’ll check in when the hour’s up.”

“Why not you?”

“Vanserra won’t speak candidly if he knows I’m watching,” Az said. “Trust me. He won’t see me at all. And I doubt he knows Rhys is my brother.” He went for his door handle, and stopped. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes,” Elain said firmly “Trust me. I can handle Lucien.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Azriel grinned at her, before getting out. He opened her door for her and watched her walk across the parking lot. It was drizzling, and raindrops clung to her hair, half pulled back in a silver barrette. They glittered like diamonds in the dim light from the streetlamps.

When he had arrived at the house to pick her up, he wished he could take Vanserra’s place. Elain, in a forest green form-fitting skirt and black long-sleeve tee, looked beautiful, and serious. Not overly date-like, but classy. 

When Elain entered, she saw Lucien lounging at a table, watching the door. He grinned and waved her over.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” he teased, standing to pull her chair out for her.

“Free dinner is a good incentive,” Elain teased. “And my sisters send their hellos.”

“I’m sure,” Lucien said, pouring her a glass of wine. She thought of the flask in her purse.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Elain asked.

“First,” Lucien lifted his glass to hers. “I’d like to properly apologize for the other day. Your sister had a point; I was throwing speculation at you, not facts. I just,” he sighed. “I got wrapped up in bringing justice for Tamlin.”

“Of course,” Elain said. _Oh justice came for him, all right._

“And, I thought you’d like to know,” said Lucien. “They found the body.”

Elain fought to keep her expression neutral. She felt like fingers of ice had begun trailing up her spine. “Where was it?”

“Out in the desert. Buried in a shallow grave.” 

_That’s impossible,_ Elain thought. _I buried him deep underneath a patch of cacti. No one could have found him_. “What led them to the desert?”

“Some hikers,” Lucien said. “It had rained a few days prior, and enough dirt had washed away for them to find him.”

Elain put her hand over her mouth. “That must have been _terrible_.” He hadn’t looked too good when they buried him. She didn’t want to know what weeks underground had done.

Yes,” Lucien said. “They’re performing an autopsy, and I expect the results within the week.”

Elain’s palms grew clammy. She knew what the report would say. No killing blow, no stab or gunshot wounds. Tamlin’s body would be untouched, save for the scratches and bruises they’d managed to land during the struggle. No, instead, they’d find three or four times the lethal amount of belladonna in his bloodstream.

The night flashed through her mind, snippets of memory and vision.

_Nesta straddled his stomach and nearly clawed his eyes out while forcing the bottle of tequila and powdered belladonna down his throat. Elain gripped his hair in her fists. Feyre pinned his shoulders, throwing all her weight against him, one arm jammed across his windpipe. Tamlin struggled viciously, like an animal. Shouted. His arms flailed and his legs kicked, trying to buck Nesta off._

_“Tequila and wine, temper and bind,” Elain said. Tamlin’s legs locked together, his arms glued to his sides. He bellowed and wriggled. Tequila spilled everywhere. He’d thrown it at them, when he had stumbled back to the hotel room and found them packing Feyre’s suitcase. Nesta had improvised._

_“Drink it, damn it!” Nesta cried. Feyre sobbed quietly._

“Elain?” She jumped at Lucien’s voice. He tilted his head to look at her, eye glinting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she blinked, and took a sip of her wine. “Just. Ah. This is just… really shocking.”

Lucien nodded. “Of course.” He reached out a hand to cover hers, and she slid hers back subtly. “I’m sorry to upset you,” he said softly.

“It’s fine,” she said, clearing her throat and glancing at her menu. “Um, shall we-”

Cerridwen appeared at her elbow. “Good evening. Are you ready to order?”

She glanced at the bar, and Rhys winked at her. She scanned the restaurant for Azriel, and when she saw him, sitting at a table in the back, facing her, she fought back a smile. He nodded, eyes fixed on the back of Lucien’s head.

“Yes,” Elain smiled gratefully. While Cerridwen distracted him, she fumbled for the flask of potion, eyes on his wineglass. _But what about the autopsy?_ She hesitated.

She’d use it, the next chance she got. After they got the autopsy report. And when Azriel wasn’t watching them both like a hawk.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Lucien said as the waitress left with their orders. He gave her a charming smile. “You’re very intriguing, Elain.”

 _Oh Goddess, here we go._ Elain resisted rolling her eyes. She still couldn’t See anything from him; no aura, no future. No past. It made her uneasy. “Nothing much to tell,” Elain shrugged a shoulder. “Grew up here. Lived in New York for a bit. Came back.”

“And what did you do in New York? Did your sisters come with?”

“Nesta did. I went to college for a bit. Here and there.”

“And what did you study?”

 _Goddess, is this an interview or… a date?_ Elain tried not to grimace. “Plant biology.”

“Interesting. I would have pegged you for a liberal arts kind of girl. You know, less complicated.”

Elain reconsidered grabbing the flask and forcing all of it down his throat. “A bachelors of science suited me just fine.”

Lucien opened his mouth to ask her another annoying question, but she countered it with one of her own. “Why didn’t you tell Feyre you knew Tamlin?”

He shut his mouth abruptly, and she took a sip of wine to hide her smile. “I, ah, wanted to keep it professional.”

“Like right now?”

His cheeks turned pink. “Ah. Well, this is-”

“Strictly professional?” Elain said. “If this is professional, I’d hate to see you at a murder scene.”

“Of course, this is more… personal,” Lucien said. He was beginning to look flustered. _Good._ “You see, since I knew him and your sisters were so upset, I thought-”

Elain smirked. “Not sure the LAPD would approve of your methods.”

“Maybe not,” Lucien said. “But I think they’d understand, considering the circumstances.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Elain parroted, and Cerridwen reappeared with their dinner. Azriel caught her eye and pointed to his wrist. She checked her watch. Time was almost up. _Thank Goddess_.

When Lucien bowed his head to cut his steak, she flashed two fingers at Azriel, mouthing, _twenty_. He nodded again, looking concerned and went back to glaring at the back of Lucien’s head.

“So how did you meet Tamlin?” Elain asked.

Lucien took a sip of his wine before answering. “I left my family when I was young. Tamlin took me in.” Lucien’s face contorted briefly, grief flitting across his face.

Elain almost softened, but feral green eyes, a snarling mouth, and Feyre’s sobs echoed through her mind. “You were close.”

“He is… _was_ … a brother to me.” He looked at Elain. “What would you do? If your sister was missing, in trouble?”

Elain reared back. “She was.” Lucien’s good eye widened at her harsh tone. “And I found her. And rescued her, from Tamlin.”

Lucien bowed his head. “It’s strange how the man I knew could be so different.”

“You mean cruel.” Elain watched him, waiting until he looked up and met her eyes.

“I always knew he had a darkness.” Lucien sighed. “I just didn’t know how deep it ran.”

“Well, Feyre learned the hard way.” Elain pushed back from the table. She felt anger roil in her stomach, creep up her throat. “Thank you for dinner and the information. I’ll pass your apology along to my sisters but I don’t think a secondhand one will bring Feyre much peace.”

“Elain,” Lucien called. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Elain said. “But not as sorry as I am for my sister who has to go through this whole ordeal.” She turned and headed for the door.

Azriel appeared from around the building moments after the door swung shut behind her, leaving her in the empty, dark parking lot. Anger turned to sadness, and her eyes filled with tears.

“What did he say to you? Are you alright?” Azriel strode towards Elain and cupped her face in his hands. “Elain, you’re crying.”

“I just-“ she took a deep breath. “He said Tamlin was like a brother to him. He just wrote off his cruelty to Feyre like it was nothing.”

Azriel stroked a tear away with his thumb. “He’s wrong.”

Elain inhales through her nose to compose herself. “They found Tamlin’s body.”

“Is that why you looked like you saw a ghost?”

“Something like that,” Elain whispered. She inhaled again, and placed her hand against his. “Can you take me home?”

“Yeah,” Azriel dropped his hands from her face and shoved them into his pockets. They walked to the car side by side.

“Thanks for the help,” Elain said. “I appreciate you being here.”

Azriel closed her door and slid into the drivers seat. “It’s what friends do,” he murmured, shooting her a small smile.

 _Yeah, friends_. She smiled back, and they sat in comfortable silence.

At the house, he pulled as far up the drive as he could and dropped her at the door. “Lock the door behind you,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

“Goodnight. And thanks for everything.” Elain held back the impulse to press a kiss to his cheek and settled for squeezing his hand before hurrying inside and waving from the window, watching his tail lights disappear into the night.

Feyre and Nesta were sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for her.

“Elain,” Nesta said, relief plain in her voice. ”How was it? What happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Elain sighed and sat, kicking off her heels. Feyre brought her a cup of tea. “But Goddess, he pissed me off.”

“What did he do?” Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Did he hit on you? I swear to-”

“He did and he didn’t,” Elain said. “But that’s not the problem. He said they found the body.”

“ _What_?” Nesta shrieked. “That’s impossible. We buried him at least seven feet down. You grew a whole patch of cacti over it. Oh my Goddess…” she trailed off, clutching her head in her hands.

“Fuck!” Feyre slammed her fist against the table. “Are you _kidding me?”_ Slam, slam. “We _buried_ him! We _banished_ him!” She pushed back her chair. Her shadow flickered and stretched. “I can’t _do this!_ ”

“Feyre,” Elain said. “Feyre, calm down,”

“ _No_ !” She shrieked. “I spent the last five years of my life in _misery_ , and somehow he’s still fucking with me after _death_ ? Goddess!” She spun towards the grimoire in its wooden cradle on the cluttered kitchen island. “We need something new, a spell, a charm, a potion,” Feyre muttered frantically, flipping pages without bothering to read them. She turned back to her sisters. “ _Help me.”_

“Feyre,” Elain soothed, reaching for Feyre, but Feyre shied away. “Feyre, sit down, he can’t get you.”

Nesta was there, pulling Feyre gently by the elbow and back to her seat. Feyre’s shadows quieted, but only slightly.

“Did you give him the potion? Lucien?” Nesta asked.

“No,” Elain said. “He’s waiting on the autopsy. Before we do _anything_ to him, we have to know what it says.”

Feyre pressed her fists to her eyes. “It’s over. It’s all over. We’re going to prison.”

“ _Nothing_ is over,” Nesta said. “Not until _I_ say so, damn it.”

“We need the aunts,” Elain said. “We can’t do this without them.”

Feyre nodded. “We were stupid to think we could handle this without them.”

“We didn’t have a choice,” Nesta reminded her. “But I agree. We start looking for them tomorrow.”

“What if…” Elain mused, “what if we, like, _fixed_ the autopsy report? If I can get Lucien to let me see it, I might…”

“But they’d already have it in their official report, his file,” Nesta said. “Those are back in LA. And we’re sure as hell not going back there.”

“No,” Elain paused. “But what if we could get them sent here?”

“I don’t think Lucien would redirect all the paperwork here, just because a murder suspect told him to,” Nesta said.

“No, but he might if the sheriff asked for it.” Elain shrugged. “Do you think Cassian would help us?”

Nesta bit her lip and looked away. “He said he’d help me. But it’s a fine line between helping us get rid of Lucien and interfering with the investigation altogether. Cassian’s still the sheriff. And I can’t lie to him for shit. Besides,” Nesta groaned. “It’s as good as a confession if I tell him I want to doctor some papers to prove our innocence. If we do that, and I try to defend Feyre in court,” Feyre let out a muffled sob, “I could lose my license, _and_ we’d all go to jail.”

“Then don’t lie to Cassian,” Elain said.

“What, tell him the _truth?_ ” Nesta raised her eyebrows. “You’re insane.”

“Only pieces.” Elain paced the kitchen. “Fuck, I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

“Comforting,” Nesta said, patting Feyre on the back. “Goddess. What a clusterfuck.” She said. “How did they find the body?”

“Hikers, apparently. It had rained, and washed the dirt away.”

“That’s impossible,” Nesta said.

“Not during the spring,” Elain said. “The rain gets heavy.”

“Fuck,” Nesta muttered. “Okay. Tomorrow, you start looking for the aunts again. I’ll ask Cassian for help,” her face twisted, as if she smelled something rank. “And Feyre…” she wrapped her arm around Feyre and laid her head on her shoulder. “We _will_ sort this out.”

Elain dropped her head to Feyre’s other shoulder.

“Sisters three we always be,” Elain whispered. “We can do this. And if it goes wrong, well… we’ll just have to bury Lucien too.”

It wasn’t funny, but Feyre snorted, and she counted that as a win.

***

When Cassian woke the next morning, he saw he had a missed call from Nesta, just after dawn. He thumbed the call button. He felt only a little foolish for the jolt of excitement at her calling him first. He felt like a teenager.

“Good, you’re up,” Nesta answered. “It’s almost nine, you animal. I thought you’d never wake up.”

“Good morning to you too,” Cassian said. “Did you call me just to criticize my sleep habits?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Never thought I’d hear those words, sweetheart, but your wish is my command,” Cassian said. He could picture the pretty pink flush that rose to her cheeks when he goaded her.

“Now’s not the time for assholery,” she brushed him off. “It’s serious. It’s about Vanserra.”

“What’s wrong?” Cassian asked, jumping out of bed and pulling a pair of jeans on with one hand. “Did he come by the house?”

“There’s been a… well, we have a problem. A huge fucking problem.”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Cassian said, digging through his pile of laundry for a clean shirt. “But I expect breakfast for the short notice.”

“Unfortunately, I think I owe you, so you’re right,” Nesta grumbled.

“What’s this favor? Trying to butter me up?” Cassian teased.

“I wish it were that easy,” Nesta said. He was shocked at how uneasy she sounded. So unlike the confident Nesta he’d seen. “I’ll see you in twenty,” she said, and hung up.

Cassian stared at his phone, and wondering what sort of trouble the Archeron sisters had gotten themselves into.

He rode his bike to the Archeron house. It didn’t get enough use, as he used his squad car for most police errands. It was good to catch the last few warm days of autumn, with golden sunshine and brisk wind. The leaves were a fiery vibrant beacon, beckoning him to town, towards Nesta.

She was sitting on the porch swing when he pulled into the driveway. He saw the way her eyes flickered over his leather jacket, his bike, and bit back a smile. Nesta Archeron had a thing for motorcycles. He figured she’d die before admitting it, especially not to him. But he took his time dismounting, leaning against the bike. “Morning sweetheart.”

“Morning,” Nesta said. She tried not to roll her eyes as he took off his helmet and shook his hair out. She squashed the urge to run her fingers through it. Instead, her gaze drifted back to the motorcycle. She wondered briefly what it would feel like to sit behind him, arms wrapped around him as they hurtled down the highway, wind whipping their hair. 

“So, where’s breakfast?”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Inside.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “This place gets messier every time I’m here.”

Nesta grunted and shoved a plate at him, plunking a cup of coffee down across from her at the kitchen table. “Here’s breakfast. Bon appetit.”

“You know I was kidding.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. “Were you?”

He smirked. “Maybe not.”

Nesta rolled her eyes again, but smiled this time. “Whatever.”

“So what’s this big favor?” Cassian asked through a mouthful of egg.

Nesta’s smile quickly turned to a scowl. “Were you raised by wolves?”

“Nah, just street dogs, they don’t really give a shit about etiquette.”

Nesta blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Not this time.” Cassian tried for casual, light, but she saw the edge in his eyes. This man had a past. _But I don’t care,_ she thought angrily. _Why the fuck would I?_

“So, the favor,” she focused on her hands wrapped around her coffee mug. “Lucien cornered Elain into having dinner with him last night. He told her they’d found Tamlin’s body.”

“Are you serious?” Cassian asked. “That quick?”

She nodded. “They found him in the desert.”

“Buried?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” Cassian muttered, omelet forgotten. “So now what?”

“We’re not sure,” Nesta said. “I don’t like that Lucien made a play for Elain-”

“He did _what_?”

“-which is exactly why I don’t trust him on this. He said he knew Tamlin, but didn’t bother to tell us until now.”

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “There’s something else to this.”

Nesta shrugged. “We have no idea. He said he’s waiting on an autopsy, but…” she glanced at him, and back at her hands. “We don’t really trust what he has to say.”

“You think he’d lie?”

“To back us in a corner? Absolutely.” Nesta sat upright, and Cassian was reminded the woman sitting across from him wasn’t just a concerned sister. No, she was also a lawyer, preparing to defend her sister and possibly even herself in court, if necessary. “This may be a gross breach of protocol, but… do you think you could get the autopsy report? Before Tamlin? So we can see it?”

Nesta watched with bated breath as Cassian’s expression turned thoughtful. “You mean, get the report from the LA medical examiner, before he can?”

“If that’s possible.”

“I don’t think I have the jurisdiction.” Cassian sat back in his chair. “Why’s the autopsy so important?”

Nesta fought the urge to let the truth spill out. _Use pieces of the truth,_ Elain had said. “I’m worried about Feyre,” Nesta said honestly. “I don’t trust Lucien, and I don’t think he’s going to make this easy on us. I think he’s going to use the autopsy to build a case against Feyre.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Why else would he be here? On a quest to avenge his ‘best friend’?” Nesta mimed air quotes, and Cassian snorted. “Feyre didn’t kill Tamlin,” Nesta continued. _I did. I poured the belladonna down his throat and watched him choke._ “But whatever comes back, I’m worried Lucien’s going to use her as a scapegoat, or for some sort of weird revenge fantasy.”

Cassian crossed his arms, deep in thought. 

Nesta tried not to focus on the furrow that appeared between his eyes when he thought. Her fingers itched to smooth it away. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I’m sorry if this oversteps any boundaries.”

“Tell you what,” Cassian said. “I might be able to request the report, on the grounds that this investigation concerns my district and some persons of interest who reside in it. I’m not sure if that’s enough, but,” he shrugged. “I can try. Vanserra’s camping out in my goddamn conference room, so he’s literally within my jurisdiction.”

“Thank you,” Nesta breathed. “I just- you have no idea how fucking awful this whole mess has been.”

“I can’t imagine,” Cassian said. “And this is free of charge. I meant it when I wanted to help you. I’m happy to.”

“Even if it involves a lot of red tape and even more headaches?”

Cassian chuckled. “Even then.”

Nesta, despite herself, smiled. “I don’t think we’d be able to handle this without you,” she admitted. “So, really. Thank you.”

Cassian studied her face, unguarded, soft. He tried to memorize her features, the curve of her lips, her nose. How her usually stormy eyes looked like a calm sea when she wasn’t trying to shoot daggers at him. “Happy to help, sweetheart.”

The stormy gray returned at the nickname. “Clear your damn plate, we’re not animals in this house,” she snapped at him.

Cassian chuckled and carried his empty plate to the sink. He perused the island cluttered with jars and bottles, the weird old cookbook, and a small, cast-iron cauldron. He knocked over one of the bottles, and brown powder poured across the countertop.

“Shit, I’m sorry-”

“Don’t touch it!” Nesta cried. “Um, don’t worry about it. I got it.”

Cassian scooped up the bottle, glancing at the label before handing it to her. _Belladonna._ “What is this, chili powder? Weird looking spice.” The bottle looked strangely familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“It’s, um, just an herb.” _The truth, stick to the truth_ , Nesta reminded herself. “We’re really into homeopathic stuff. It’s expensive. And some can be unsafe in pure form.”

“Is this?”

“It can make you sick,” Nesta said, carefully swiping the powder back into the bottle. “Without the rest of the herbs for the tincture.”

“What’s it for?”

“Stomach, headache, nausea, the regular ailments.”

“How did you learn all this stuff?” Cassian gestured to the rest of the supplies.

“The aunts,” Nesta said. “They did homeopathic stuff for the women in town. They taught us everything we know.”

She wasn’t lying, Cassian could tell. But again, there was that kernel of hidden truth that nagged him. He let it go, for now. But when things settled and Nesta wasn’t looking over her shoulder and jumping at every shadow, he’d find out what secrets she was keeping.

***

Feyre heard Cassian and Nesta bickering in the kitchen, and decided she’d rather avoid them than get in the middle of it.

She dressed quickly, and winnowed to town for breakfast. She closed her eyes and thought of the back alley between Velaris and the bank. Hidden, the perfect place for comings and goings.

She smelled the morning air, heard the rumble of car engines on the street, and stumbled into darkness. She flailed, and then it was light again. She leaned against the side of Velaris and groaned, rubbing her eyes. _I need to get better at that._

No one saw Feyre exit the alleyway, and she relaxed when she entered Prythian unnoticed. She sat with a cup of coffee by the window and sighed, watching the town awaken. She doodled idly, on a napkin with a pen she’d shoved in her purse.

She’d craved a normal life, back when she was with Tamlin. And he gave it to her, in the form of a nightmare. Now, she was living back in the world of dreams, and still, he haunted her.

 _The body_ , she thought. _We should have burned it._

When they shoved the body in the trunk and hauled it to the desert, Nesta had run out of power. Feyre had felt like she was underwater, fading in and out. It was all just another strange dream. Elain was the one who conjured shovels and they started to dig. She used the last of her power to sing to the plants.

Feyre thought of the Archeron curse again. Mor and Amren had never had to bury all their lovers, but every man who truly loved an Archeron witch died, one after the other. Whether the witch loved him at all was irrelevant. After awhile, they stopped taking lovers at all. Some of Mor’s lovers, witches like them, always survived. They had either known enough of the curse to keep her distance, or Mor herself kept everyone at arm's length, to be safe.

 _Does that mean Tamlin really loved me?_ Feyre wondered. She didn’t know if it made it better or worse if he did.

Through the window, she saw Rhys unlock the front door to Velaris and reached for her phone.

_Turn around._

Rhys reached for his pocket, feeling his phone buzz. She watched him read the text and whip his head around, face softening when he saw her leaning against the window.

He waved and was across the street and inside the coffee shop in an instant.

“Hey,” he greeted her, sliding into the seat across from her. “Are you spying on me?”

“Yep,” Feyre mustered a smile. “This whole time, I’ve been stalking you.”

“I’m flattered,” Rhys swiped her coffee cup and finished the dregs. “You’re up early.”

“Cassian’s at the house,” Feyre said. “It was too early to listen to them fight.”

“Foreplay,” Rhys rolled his eyes.

“Oh Goddess,” Feyre muttered. “Never let her hear you say that.”

“Why?” Rhys grinned. “Is she gonna cast a spell on me?”

“In a heartbeat,” Feyre said.

Rhys laughed. “Not surprised.” He grabbed her empty cup. “Hang on, I’ll get you another.”

When Rhys returned, Feyre was looking back out the window, lost in thought. He was struck by the pain in her face. “Is something wrong?”

She mustered a smile. “No. Of course not.” She shoved a napkin at him, with a well-rendered stick figure. “I drew Cassian again,” she said. “I decided to turn his bat wings into fairy wings.”

“Can I keep this?” Rhy asked. “I’m going to make copies, and tape it all over the house.”

Feyre laughed. “Send me a picture of his face when he sees it.”

“I’m videotaping it.” Rhys swiped another doodle to take a close look. “This is amazing, Feyre,” he said, holding her drawing of a perfectly rendered rose. “Can I keep this too?”

“Sure,” Feyre said, surprised. She watched as he carefully tucked it away into his jacket pocket.

“I paint too,” she blurted out. “It’s been awhile, though.”

Rhys grinned at her. “I’d love to see some of your work,” he said, and Feyre paled. “If you even wanted to show me, I mean.”

“No, no, I do,” she said. “I just haven’t painted in a really long time.”

“Why not? You’re an amazing artist,” Rhys said. “From what I can tell. But I bet the rest of your work is just as great.”

Feyre expected to feel flattered, but all she felt was sorrow. Tamlin had encouraged her painting, in the beginning. She was always hiding the things that slipped out the pictures and into reality. But eventually, he resented the time she spent away from him at her easel. The paintings stopped coming to life. And she began to do it less and less, until she was too depressed to paint at all. 

She looked out the window. “My ex boyfriend didn’t like it.”

“Oh.” Rhys watched Feyre. For a moment, he saw the sad, scared woman who walked into his restaurant weeks ago.

“Let’s walk,” Rhys suggested. “Get some air. It’s a nice day.”

Feyre nodded.

The walk to the beach was beautiful. Crimson and orange and yellow leaves lit the trees aflame as they passed. The sunlight was crisp and the air smelled sharp. Winter was coming, and Feyre craved the darkness. She loved all the seasons, but she loved autumn the most. It reminded her of the great sleep, the slowing down. The going within to rest and heal and wait during the dark winter months until spring arrived and it was time to blossom. 

“You can pass, but,” Rhys said. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Feyre looked straight ahead. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Is it the investigator?”

“Cassian told you.”

“Only enough.” Rhys said. “He said you were in some trouble.”

Feyre sighed, and clenched her jaw as she felt fresh tears prick behind her eyes. She had cried herself to sleep the previous night. She couldn’t cry in front of Rhys too.

“Feyre,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “Darling, it’s ok. You don’t have to tell me.”

My,” her breath hitched. “My ex boyfriend is dead.” Rhys froze. “And the investigator thinks,” she inhaled sharply to get herself under control. “He thinks that I killed him.”

“What the fuck?” Rhys said. “Why the hell would he think that?”

“I was the last person to see him alive,” Feyre looked to the sky, as if it would force the tears back. “They found his body. They’re going to do an autopsy, and I just,” Feyre inhaled sharply. “I hated him, so much,” she said. She didn’t notice the flicker of relief, and sorrow, in Rhys’s face. “He was the worst person I ever knew.”

“That’s why you looked so scared the first time I saw you,” Rhys said quietly. “That was his fault.”

Feyre nodded, throat thick, and this time, she couldn’t hold the tears back. “He was a monster,” she whispered. “I just wanted to get away. And he wouldn’t let me go.”

“And he hurt you.” Rhys’s voice was still quiet, tone even. But the rage she could feel pouring off of him was unmistakable. “The bruise?”

“Wasn’t the first,” Feyre swiped a tear with the hand not wrapped in his. “Goddess. I was so relieved when they said he was missing. And now I’m a murder suspect.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Rhys said firmly. “I won’t let it, Cassian won’t let it.” He changed direction to turn back to town, gently pulling her along. “We’re going to see him, right now,”

“He’s doing everything he can,” Feyre said, tugging back, leading him to the wooded trail that led to the beach. “Vanserra’s the problem. There’s nothing more we can do.”

“I don’t believe that,” Rhys said, furious. “What kind of asshole blames an innocent woman for a monster’s death? An _animal_ , who _hit her-_ ”

“It happens all the time,” Feyre said dully. “And you have to admit, it’s a convincing motive.”

“Then Vanserra’s not a good detective.”

“It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t,” Feyre said. “Once they perform the autopsy, it’s over.”

“What makes you say that?”

Feyre bit her lip. “I just… I don’t think Vanserra cares about accuracy. I think he just wants to wrap the case up cleanly.” She thought about the jabs he’d made at her aunts. If only he knew how close he was to the truth.

“I won’t let that happen,” Rhys said. The sea roared just ahead of them. They’d reached the sand, and Feyre longed to curl her toes into it. To grow roots like a tree, and stretch towards the sky, to feel grounded. Where everything made sense again.

“You can’t do anything about it,” Feyre said.

“Bullshit.” He dropped her hand and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay.”

“You can’t know that,” Feyre said. “It’s done,” and she began to cry. She hated crying, hated the thickness in her throat. The snot, the tears. The rest of the story, unspoken, felt heavy in her chest, and she wished she could tell Rhys the whole truth.

But if he knew, would he look at her the same? Witchcraft aside, would he still like her if he knew she’d felt nothing but relief when they left Tamlin for Mother Earth to reclaim and erase their sins?

Would he look at her the same if he knew about the curse?

She felt Rhys’s hands slide from her shoulders and down her back, gently gathering her close to his chest. “Darling,” he murmured. “Don’t cry.”

She wanted to cry harder when he pressed his lips to her forehead. Rhys was a good man, better than most she’d known. So unlike the other man she’d fallen in love with. 

_Love_ , she thought. _I refuse to let the curse take him too._

She didn’t know if Rhys even loved her or not. _But I can’t take the chance,_ she thought, face buried in his chest. _He’s too good for me. Too good for us and this mess._

She wouldn’t let him become another casualty of the Archeron witches.

“I need to go home,” she broke away abruptly. “I-I’m so sorry. I just, Nesta, Elain,” she fled down the path, back towards town.

“Feyre!”

She ran harder through the wooded path to the main road when she heard Rhys’s footsteps behind her. She ducked behind a tree and winnowed home.

Rhys turned the bend and found himself alone. Feyre was gone.

“What the hell is with these girls?” He said aloud. “Feyre?”

No one answered but the last of the geese crying overhead, flying home for winter.

He shoved his hands in his pockets to begin the walk back, and yelped when he felt a sharp pain slice through the pad of his thumb. He pulled his hand out, and stared. In his palm was a perfectly rendered, vibrant red rose.

***

“Well?” Ianthe sat at her vanity, running a silver brush through her gleaming hair. “What have you learned?”

“She looked like she was going to run when I told her about the body,” Lucien said through the mirror. “And when I mentioned the autopsy, I thought she would bolt.” He thought of the doe in headlights look Elain had given him. How fiercely she and her sister gathered around Feyre.

“Excellent.”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably. “How much longer am I to keep this charade up?”

“As long as we need,” Ianthe said. “He’s still not quite animated. We need them scared. We need them weak.”

“And what else am I supposed to do?” Lucien almost snapped. “I’m not going to hound them. They’re already terrified out of their minds.”

Ianthe tilted her head and tapped her perfect, cupid's bow lips. “You’re mouthy tonight, my little fox. Perhaps you need a refresh on manners.”

“I apologize,” Lucien grit out. “But when the autopsy never comes back, they may suspect something is going on.”

“Oh, that,” she waved a hand. “I can whip one up with ease. Hell, I can perform a real one if you _really_ want it.” Ianthe rolled her eyes. Her plaything was _such_ a stickler for rules.

“I don’t know how much longer we have before they start asking questions,” Lucien said. “They’re smart.”

“And so are we.” Ianthe arched a brow. “What’s wrong, pet? Your leash feeling a bit tight?”

Lucien grit his teeth. “Not at all.”

Ianthe tsked. “You’ve been a good sport, my love. Don’t worry, I’ll honor our bargain.” She smiled, and Lucien’s blood went cold. He hated when she smiled at him like that, like he was merely something for her to play with and then dispose of until she got bored.

 _But isn’t that what you are?_ He thought. _Nothing but a toy on a string._

“Have patience, my little fox,” Ianthe said to him. “This will all be over as soon as those sisters drop their guard and I can take what I’ve come for.”

***

Feyre drifted through the day as if in a haze. Her sisters were equally preoccupied. It was almost a blessing when night came, and Feyre could hide in the darkness, alone with her pain.

Sleep didn’t come easy. She stared out the window, at the moon that had begun to wax. It would be full for Samhain, but this didn’t fill her with joy as it normally would have. Her heart was too heavy. Darkness danced at the edges of her mind. The bad kind of shadows, shadows with green eyes and fists. Iron bars and a life without feeling the midnight air on her skin. Feyre bit back sobs until she drifted to sleep.

But when she dreamed, she dreamt of Rhys. She always dreamt of Rhys now. He was there when she closed her eyes. Their limbs snaked around each other. Hips moved against hips. Panting against her neck. Fingertips trailing down her body, his mouth following his hands. Feyre felt safe, and seen. This was nothing like Tamlin.

_Rhys’s violet eyes locked onto hers as he rolled atop of her. Her hands in his hair, she brought his head down to her chest. Her hands roamed his broad back, almost as if she were touching him in the day,_

_“Feyre,” he whispered against her skin. “Feyre, is it you?”_

_“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s me, I’m here...”_

_“Tell me why I dream of you?” He whispered against her lips. “Every night. It’s only you.”_

_She opened her mouth to respond, to tell him about dream walking and magic and a little girl who watched her sister weave a spell so her heart would never break. Who swore she’d never brick up her heart. To tell him about a little girl who could hear the stars sing at night. Who called to the darkness like a lover._

_“Rhys…” She tried again, but the dream was fading. She ran her hands down his arms one last time, before the dream crumbled and she was left floating in dreamless sleep._

Feyre drifted in the hazy world between sleep and waking. Sunlight streamed through the windows, birds chirped. She draped her arm over her face, and let herself enjoy the dream. Just another wonderful, frightening, forbidden dream. She’d wake in her own bed, alone and sad, but for now…

“Feyre, wake up.” _Nesta, so bossy._

She yawned, and opened her eyes, stretching against the warm body beside her, and froze. Her head was lying on a strong, bare chest. _Oh, Goddess._

When she tilted her head up, she saw Rhys staring down at her, eyes wide with shock. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t a dream at all.

 _Oh, Goddess,_ she thought, pressed against his body. _What have I done?_


	9. Andromeda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not a lawyer and I never claimed to be. If you’re sitting there going “is that actually how the law works regarding investigators and sheriffs and autopsies?” My answer is, I have no damn clue, I just made this up for Plot Reasons. If you are a lawyer, feel free to explain where I went wrong. I tried to google this shit but google wasn’t helpful in the least.  
> Also, this chapter brought to you by this dumb motorcycle club romance novel series I’m obsessed with. I may have to write a Biker!Cassian and Nesta AU. Ooh. Yeah. I think I do.  
> Also I really really recommend listening to Weyes Blood's 'Andromeda', it's not only a gorgeous song but gave me serious Nesta vibes.  
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -Andromeda, Weyes Blood  
> -Miss Bottom of the Hill, Iron & Wine  
> -My Eyes, The Lumineers  
> -Sky Full of Song, Florence + The Machine

_Andromeda's a big, wide open galaxy  
Nothing in it for me except a heart that's lazy  
Running from my own life now  
I'm really turning some time  
Looking up to the sky for something I may never find  
Stop calling, it's time to let me be  
If you think you can save me, I'd dare you to try_

_-Andromeda, Weyes Blood_

_And I want you so badly  
But you could be anyone  
I couldn't hide from the thunder  
In the sky full of song never find_

_-Sky Full of Song, Florence + The Machine_

The morning after Nesta’s request for help, Cassian strode into the police station. The small glimpse of the unguarded, soft woman hidden inside her flitted through his mind.

Cassian knocked on the open door to the conference room. _His_ conference room, which Vanserra had claimed for his own. A suitcase sat in the corner, unopened. Vanserra’s briefcase rested on the table, surrounded by empty soda cans and fast food wrappers.

“Morning,” Cassian said. Lucien looked up from his laptop, smile paper-thin.

“Good morning, Sherriff. Can I help you?”

 _You can get out of my station, asshole._ “Actually, maybe.” Cassian perched on the edge of the table next to him, and handed him one of the coffees he’d brought from Prythian. “Word is, you’ve ordered a toxicology report for Rose.”

“I have.” Lucien looked at the coffee suspiciously, but took a sip. “You’ve been speaking to the Archerons.”

“I have my sources,” Cassian said. “This is my town. These are my people.”

Lucien cocked an eyebrow. “The sisters included?”

“They grew up here. Rose was here. Now, they’re back,” Cassian said. “I’d like to see the toxicology report when it comes in.”

“Sheriff,” Lucien said. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a conflict of interest here, between you,” he grinned, and Cassian didn’t like the look of it. “And a certain Archeron sister.”

“And your dinner with Elain wasn’t?” Cassian shot back.

Lucien frowned. “How did you know about that?”

“ _My_ town, _my_ people, Vanserra. I protect my people.”

“The sisters aren’t your _people_ ,” Lucien sneered. “They haven’t been here for five years.”

“Well, they’re back,” Cassian said. “In my district. My people.” He leaned in. “Toxicology reports, on my desk, monday.”

“You can’t do that.”

“This case pertains to people who hold a legal residence within this town, which I have been appointed to oversee,” Cassian said. “If they were from LA, then that would be different. And Tamlin Rose was once a legal resident of Salem. So,” Cassian placed his hand on the desk and leaned in closer. He swore Lucien flinched. His strange golden eye glinted, whirred. Cassian didn’t like the strange feeling it gave him. Almost like he was being watched. “I, in fact, _can_. Even if I have to call your superior.”

Lucien held his stare, and Cassian met his eyes, unflinching.

“Fine,” Lucien muttered. “You get them first. But this is _my_ case, Knight. No moves without me. And don’t even think about showing them to anyone outside of this station.” _Especially the Archerons._

“Fine,” Cassian said. “They don’t leave the premises.” He turned and began to whistle as he made his way to the door. “And the next time I hear about you showing up at the Archeron house unannounced, we’re going to have serious problems.”

Lucien waited for Cassian to leave before quietly closing the door and pulling out a small mirror from his briefcase. “ _Shadow and night, appear in my sight,_ ” he whispered, and Ianthe’s face shimmered into view.

“What the hell was that?” She asked flatly. “Here I was thinking you had it all under control.”

“He knows something,” Lucien said. “Either the sisters have roped him into it, or he suspects something.”

“You’re an idiot,” Ianthe said casually. “You had the balls to ask her when the deputy was right there. Of course he found out.”

“Damn it,” Lucien muttered. “What now?”

Ianthe waved a hand. “I’ll send you the official autopsy.”

“You know how he died?”

“Just as I suspected,” Ianthe grinned. “Belladonna, those clever witches. There’s evidence everywhere, so play by the rules. With the sheriff hovering, you won’t be able to go off book, so to speak.”

“And then what? I ‘arrest’ them?”

“‘Officialy’, yes. And then bring them to me,” Ianthe said. “Get them to L.A. I want them worn down and terrified. This has to look airtight. I don’t do messy.”

Lucien sighed. “You never told me what you wanted with them in the first place.”

“That’s not relevant to your debt,” Ianthe said. “Nosy fox. You’ll know it all in good time. Are we done here?”

Lucien held back a sigh. “Yes, Ianthe.”

Her visage shimmered and disappeared from the mirror, and he slumped back in his seat. Tamlin’s lover had never been a kind woman, and now that she was fixated on the Archerons… he didn’t know what to expect.

In his office, Cassian leaned against his desk and stared at the big filing cabinets that held the records of every case, incident, and complaint in Salem from the past fifty years. His predecessor had been an obsessive pack rat who’d abhorred the digital age. As a consequence, Cassian often spent weekends digging through piles of papers and wishing he had an assistant to scan everything in for him.

In the “A” cabinet, he found the Archeron files with ease. Thick folders stacked on top of each other, labeled “Amren Archeron” and “Morrigan Archeron”, and three smaller ones: Nesta, Elain, and Feyre. Townsfolk had been making complaints against the women for years.

Amren and Mor’s folders were full of ridiculous claims: stolen husbands, one allegedly kidnapped baby, stolen (and possibly eaten) pets. Two counts of indecent exposure for Amren, six for Mor. _Dancing naked on Halloween_ , Cassian read from Mor’s file. Six consecutive years.

And more mysterious ones: accusations of poisoning, sabotage. One report accused Amren of casting an ‘evil eye’ on them, and causing their week-long stroke of bad luck. One complained Mor had cursed their son with a tail.

He thought of Graysen, and the pig tail he swore he saw, but then, he wasn’t really sure _what_ he saw.

Feyre’s had several counts of skipping school, also some dancing naked on Halloween. _What the fuck is it about Halloween?_ He wondered. 

Elain’s was empty, save for one count of indecency, more naked moonlight dancing, and one complaint, from a mother claiming Elain had bewitched her son, a Graysen Johnson, and then broken his heart and their engagement. _Good for her,_ Cassian thought.

Surprisingly, aside from yet another count of indecent exposure, Nesta had several complaints of arson, however nothing had been proved. The Johnson’s shed, the outside of the school gym. One from the Mandray family, claiming Nesta had attempted to set the house on fire while their eldest son, Tomas, was inside. _Lies, lies,_ his gut whispered. All lies, but deep inside… the smallest kernel of truth. The Mandrays, whoever they were, and Nesta had history.

Their files revealed nothing more, and Cassian shut the cabinet and rubbed his eyes. Arson. Poisoning. Naked dancing. Bewitching men. It was all too bizarre.

 _What do you know about the Archeron girls?_ He texted Azriel and Rhys.

A moment later, Az poked his head in. “What’s up?”

Cassian waved the files at him. “They’ve got rap sheets.”

Azriel arched an eyebrow and closed the door behind him. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Here’s Elain’s.” Azriel caught the file Cassian tossed and thumbed through. He watched Az furrow his brow when he scanned the indecent exposure charge.

“ _Elain? Really?_ ”

“Nesta, Feyre too, and the aunts,” Cassian said. “Nesta’s got a few counts of arson, but no convictions. Feyre’s says truancy.”

Azriel stared at Elain’s file. An ex-fiancé? Indecency? A naked Elain, ethereal in the moonlight, flashed through his mind. He fought to keep a straight face.

“Vanserra’s ordered an autopsy,” Cassian continued. “Nesta asked me to run interference.”

Azriel nodded. “He cornered Elain, asked her to dinner. Told her about it then. She looked scared shitless.”

“And why would she care?” Cassian asked. “These sisters don’t add up.” He waved the aunts’s file at him. “And this is a clusterfuck of bizarre shit.”

Azriel took Mor’s file and flipped through. “‘Seduced mayor and cursed his wife with infertility?’ ‘Seduced and murdered assistant principal?’” He looked up. “Who the fuck was in charge back then, that they’d even _accept_ these?”

Cassian shrugged. “I keep hearing stories about poisonings, murder. All male, all lovers.”

Azriel tilted his head. “You don’t think…”

“That Feyre or her sisters killed Rose?” Cassian sighed and slumped in his chair. “Fits the profile. But no, my gut tells me they’re innocent. There’s something else going on.”

Azriel nodded and slid into the chair across from him. “Do you notice weird stuff happens, around them?”

Cassian thought back to Graysen, the herbs, the weird cookbook. Elain’s glowing eyes. Feyre’s jokes. “Absolutely.”

They stared at the files. “What are the odds you can get Nesta to talk?” Azriel asked.

Cassian snorted. “She’d prefer to rip my head off first. What about Elain?”

“What about her?” Azriel asked, overly casual.

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

He watched Azriel roll his eyes and sigh. “Fine. She and I are… friends.”

“Friends,” Cassian echoed. “Now I’m jealous you don’t look at me like you look at her.”

“What about Rhys and Feyre?” Azriel deflected. “What about you and Nesta?”

“What about me and Nesta?”

“Don’t pretend your arguments aren’t foreplay.”

He watched Cassian sputter. “ _Foreplay_? Nesta? It’s… banter, it’s friendly arguing, it’s…”

“Aggressive flirting, dangerously close to dirty talk.” Azriel stood. “We done here? I got shit to do.”

Cassian glared. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

Azriel laughed as he left.

 _Foreplay,_ Cassian thought. _Nesta. She shoots daggers at me the minute I look at her wrong._

He pulled out his phone and stared at their message thread, still at the top of his texts. Sardonic exchanges, insults. Liberal uses of emojis. He winced at the amount of winking emojis he’d texted her. _Damn it._

He hated to admit it, but Azriel was right. He _was_ flirting, because it was fun, because she was beautiful, and because she gave him shit right back. But even if she _was_ flirting back… _Does she mean it?_

He was in too deep with these Archeron women, they all were. And something about Nesta threatened to pull him in even further.

***

Feyre met Rhys’s eyes, the violet so dark they were nearly black. His gaze flickered down her body before fixing firmly on her face. She realized she was naked.

“What the hell is going on?” Rhys asked. “How are you _here_?”

 _Oh Goddess,_ Feyre thought. _I’ve ruined everything._ She considered winnowing. But Rhys’s arm was still around her, warm and heavy, all but pinning her in place.

“Hi,” she whispered. “I, um-” she rolled away abruptly, towards the edge of the bed, but Rhys caught her before she could escape. He tugged her backwards and rolled on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress.

“No way,” he said. Feyre could hear anger, confusion rising in his voice. “There’s too much weird shit happening. You need to tell me what’s going on, _now_.”

Feyre sighed and looked to the ceiling, the window, anywhere but his eyes. She couldn’t lie to him, not like this. “Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me why I woke up to you in my bed and why you ran off yesterday.”

“There are things you don’t understand,” Feyre tried.

“Explain them,” Rhys snapped. “I’m not stupid, Feyre. I know this isn’t normal, believe me.”

She bucked her hips, shoving at his shoulders, but Rhys wouldn’t budge. He placed his hands on either side of her face and settled in. “Feyre. Explain. Please.”

“Fine!” Feyre exploded. “Goddess! I’ll tell you everything, just get off me!”

Rhys shook his head.

“You’re such a prick!” Feyre snarled. She threw her head back against the pillow. “Can I at least get dressed before you interrogate me?”

Rhys froze. “You’re… completely naked?”

“No, I just decided to show up topless,” Feyre snapped. “Get _off me!_ ” She lurched up, hands pressing into Rhys’s shoulders and he rolled away. Feyre scrambled for the duvet cover, glancing around the room for her clothes. Unfortunately, when she’d dreamwalked into Rhys’s dreams, she’d managed to dreamwalk without them. Typical.

“Can I have something to wear?” She asked through gritted teeth.

Rhys rolled out of bed and she couldn’t help herself, she watched the muscles flex in his back as he pulled on a pair of boxers and dug in his drawer for a t-shirt and shorts. When he turned and tossed them to her, Feyre felt her face heat. His body was lean, muscled. Swirling black tattoos twined up his chest and shoulders, down his bicep. He politely looked away while she pulled the clothes on.

“Okay,” Feyre sat cross-legged on the bed, and Rhys remained standing, arms crossed. “This is going to sound insane.”

“Try me.”

 _Nesta, forgive me._ “I’m a witch,” she said.

“Feyre, don’t lie to me.”

“No,” she retorted. “I mean I’m a _real_ witch. Like with magic, and everything.”

“Are you,” Rhys peered at her. “You’re not… sick, are you?”

“No, I’m completely serious. It’s why I’m here.”

“Fine,” Rhys said, exasperated. “Then how the hell _did_ you get here? Did you break in, or something?”

“I can dreamwalk,” Feyre said. She watched Rhys roll his eyes, and move to the window to check for signs of entry. _He thinks I’m crazy._ “You’ve been dreaming of me, even before this.”

Rhys turned to look at her, expression slightly guilty. “How do you know that?”

“I was there,” Feyre said. “It’s something I… do. I can walk into people’s dreams. Pull stuff out of it. That day you woke up without your bracelet was because I accidentally took it with me when the dream ended.”

“That’s impossible.” He fingered the bracelet on his wrist. “You found it in the restaurant.”

“But you went to bed with it on, and when you woke up, it was gone,” Feyre said. Rhys paused, in thought. “I know this is hard to believe. But it’s true. My sisters and I, my aunts, we’re all witches.”

Rhys shook his head. “You mean, you really cast spells? Potions? Fly on broomsticks?”

“All of it,” Feyre said. “And more.”

Rhys uncrossed his arms and sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is insane.” He looked back at her. “Yesterday, after I put the drawing in my pocket, it disappeared, and I found this instead.” He picked up a vibrant rose from his desk. “Did you have something to do with it?”

“Yes, it’s one of my… talents.” Feyre said. “My art comes alive, so to speak. It hasn’t done that since before Tamlin.”

Rhys dropped the rose. “Did he know?”

“That I was a witch? No. He knew my family was weird, but he had no idea I had powers.”

“Have you… put a spell on me?” Rhys asked. “The dreams? Our friendship?”

Feyre flinched. “No, never. I would _never_ use my powers like that.”

“How do I know?” Rhys asked. “Feyre, this,” he ran a hand through his hair. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know,” Feyre said. “I know it sounds crazy, and you must think I’m insane, so I’m going to-” she slid to her feet and headed for the door, but Rhys stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

They stood there in silence.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Feyre said to him. “But you need to know, I’d never cast that kind of spell on someone, take away their choice. I know what it’s like.”

“Explain the dreams,” Rhys said. “How does this all work?”

She shrugged. “I slipped in by accident. Or maybe you did, I’m not quite sure. I’ve done it ever since we met.”

Rhys remembered that first dream, dimly. Cupping Feyre’s face. Tender darkness around them. “And the rest?”

 _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ Feyre thought. “All I can say is I dreamed you because I wanted to. I had no idea I’d slip into yours. I haven’t done that in years.”

Rhys still held her wrist. He idly traced his thumb over her pulse. He could feel her heartbeat, as if it was saying, _I’m real, I’m here. Flesh and blood. Human._ “And you can’t make me dream of you? You can’t _control_ my dreams?”

“You mean, invade your mind,” Feyre said. “No. I can’t control minds or anything. I can only control my dreamself. Nothing more. And that’s one of the witches’ commandments - we don’t invade privacy or impede on another’s free will.”

She watched as Rhys wouldn’t meet her eyes, just studying the hand he held, as if expecting it to disappear. _Then why do I think of you even when I”m awake?_ he thought.

“I’m not sorry I didn’t tell you,” Feyre said. “But I _am_ sorry this happened. This does cross the line of free will. And I promise, it won’t _ever_ happen again.” She shook herself loose. “I think I should go.”

“Go home?” Rhys said. “How…?”

“You don’t have to worry about coming to Samhain next week, if you don’t want to,” Feyre said. “We’d love to have you. But I understand if you don’t want to see me. Us. for awhile.” She waved, and Rhys nearly passed out when she closed her eyes and shimmered, then disappeared.

He climbed back in bed and tried to fall asleep, in case this was all just a strange dream. When he woke again, his sheets still smelled like Feyre. And the rose was still on his desk.

***

Nesta and Elain were eating breakfast when Feyre winnowed into the kitchen, dressed in a man’s t-shirt and shorts.

“Feyre?” Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Whose clothes are you wearing?”

“Did you go out last night?” Elain asked. She paused, eyes glowing, and snorted. “Ah. Now I see.”

“Very funny.” Feyre slumped at the table. “I fucked up.”

“How?” Nesta’s voice was sharp. “What happened?”

“I dreamwalked right into Rhys’s dreams. And then out of his dreams.”

“You-” Nesta put down her fork. “You _dreamwalked_ into his _bed_?”

“It hadn’t happened in years, I didn’t think it would start up again,” Feyre said.

“What kind of dreams?” Elain waggled her eyebrows at Feyre. “I think I can guess.”

“Elain!” Nesta shrieked. “Focus! What happened,” she said to Feyre, “when he woke up and found _you_ in his bed?”

“He freaked,” Feyre said. “And I told him everything.”

“ _What?”_ Nesta shrieked louder. “ _Everything?”_

“Almost everything,” Feyre admitted. “But I’m not completely an idiot, I told him we have magic, nothing more. Nothing about Tamlin..”

“Oh my Goddess,” Nesta said. “I can’t fucking believe this. Now we have your boytoy worry about as well as Vanserra. Let’s just gather the whole town to watch us jump off the roof on broomsticks.”

“I can make some ‘forget me not’ potion,” Elain said.

“No!” Feyre cried. “I promised Rhys we wouldn’t interfere with his free will.”

“He won’t remember!” Nesta cried. “It’s this or we kill him too.”

“You don’t mean that!” Feyre snapped. “You’re insane.”

“ _Me_ ? You exposed our entire existence to a _mortal_ and you want me to _calm down_ ?” Nesta stood, face red, palms in the center of the table. “He’s going to tell Cassian and Azriel. And then, Vanserra will find out. We’re screwed. Either we add to the body count, or we _become_ the body count.”

“Nesta,” Elain said. “I think you’re overreacting.”

“Aunt Mor and Amren would be _furious!_ ” Nesta argued. “Tell me they wouldn't be.”

“I’m sorry,” Feyre whispered. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Nesta sighed, and went to the grimoire on the kitchen island. “I know you didn’t,” she said, paging through. “I’m sorry. But I’m just trying to keep us from ending up dead, or worse.”

“I know,” Feyre groaned, leaning her head against the table. “What are we going to do?”

“The potion-”

“I’m _not_ doing that to Rhys,” Feyre’s voice was firm.

“Then he better not talk,” Nesta said. “I don’t care what it takes. You have to make him _promise_ he won’t talk to Cassian or Azriel. Or Lucien. Or anybody.” She trailed her finger through pages of spells, and paused on one. “Or else I’ll cast a silencing spell.”

“Don’t even go there,” Feyre snapped. “No silencing spells, no tongue-ties. No jinxes.”

“Then you better get a promise out of him,” Nesta said. “And you’re responsible if he doesn’t.”

“I accept that,” Feyre said. “If he even wants to look at me.”

“Goddess,” Nesta muttered.

“I think it’s time we looked for the aunts,” Elain said, hands out, placating. “Even without Rhys knowing, we’re in over our heads.” 

Feyre and Nesta followed her into the workroom. The room was dim, lit with murky light from the overcast, again-drizzling sky. The autumn rains had come.

“We haven’t even gotten around to planning Samhain,” Feyre muttered, pushing aside a cluster of candles and herbs to make room for the large atlas they used for scrying.

“One problem at a time,” Nesta muttered.

Elain flipped to the world map, and Feyre laid candles out at each corner.

“Do you have anything of theirs?” Nesta asked. “I have a few strands of Mor’s hair, thank Goddess she shed like a dog.”

“I have Amren’s nail file,” Feyre said. “It’s great, but it’s what we’ve got right now.”

“They were always so anal about leaving traces behind,” Elain said. “Good thing we’re not trying to make poppets.”

“Knowing them, it’s happened,” Nesta said. She wrapped the strand of hair around the pendulum’s tip, and clutched the file in her hand along with the pendulum’s chain. She reached for Feyre’s hand, and Feyre for Elain’s. Elain placed her hand on Nesta’s shoulder.

“From the north winds and the southern sea,” Nesta began. “What is lost return to me. From the eastern plains and deserts west, aid me in my simple quest. Hither and thither and over and yon, I seek to find what has been gone.”

“Sister three we always be,” Elain and Feyre murmured. “We bind this spell and so mote it be.”

The pendulum began to swing, moving in slow circles over the map. The sisters watched as the circles continued, moving slowly, then faster, then slower again.

“It’s not working,” Feyre said.

“Give it a second,” Nesta said. She gripped the pendulum more firmly. “Maybe we did the spell wrong.”

“We followed the grimoire,” Elain said. “Maybe it needs blood?”

“Theirs?”

“Ours might do in a pinch,” Elain broke the circle to grab the athame and pricked her thumb. She held it out to Feyre, who pricked her thumb and Nesta’s. The sisters each reached out and touched the pendulum with bloody fingertips, halting its movements.

“Sisters three we always be,” Elain said. “With blood to bind, so mote it be.”

When they let go, the pendulum swung in great arcs, vibrating, before clattering to the tabletop and rolling off of the map entirely.

“Well fuck,” Elain said. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Either they’re dead, or they don’t want to be found,” Nesta said. “I was afraid of this.”

“Goddess,” Elain passed out band-aids and sat on a stool. “This is ridiculous. You’d think they’d tell us if they left. Or left clues or _something_.”

“Did they always cast shielding charms when they traveled?” Feyre asked. “I don’t remember.”

“They stopped traveling after mom died and brought us here,” Nesta said. “And if they had to, they went one or the other. Never both.”

“This is ridiculous,” Feyre muttered. “I’ll try dreamwalking tonight, see if I can stumble into one of theirs.”

“Just make sure you don’t get lost in _anyone else’s_ ,” Nesta said. 

Feyre rolled her eyes. “I said I’d deal with it.”

“I’m serious about that ‘forget me not’ potion,” Nesta said. “If we could just dose them all with it and be done, this mess would be over.”

“Lucien’s superiors would definitely show up,” Elain said. “And you couldn’t do that to Cassian if you tried.”

“What does _that_ mean?” Nesta snapped.

Elain shrugged, and Feyre snorted.

Nesta tilted her head and looked at the cracked ceiling. “If you start on about this again-”

“He’s coming up the driveway!” Elain cried, whipping her head towards the door.

“No!” Nesta hissed, jumping to her feet. She tried not to think about how her hair looked, still in its ratty braid from last night. “I’m not here.”

Elain burst out laughing. “Gotcha.”

“You _witch_!” Nesta screeched. “Is this a game to you two? Taking turns to piss me off?”

“Yes,” Elain grinned. “And we’re both winning.” Feyre laughed and reached out to give Elain a high-five.

“Assholes,” Nesta muttered, leaving the workroom to go upstairs and change. “For that, you’re cleaning up the kitchen.”

The sounds of her sisters laughter chased her upstairs, and she angrily tried to shake all thoughts of Cassian aside.

“We need to prep for Samhain!” Feyre called after her. “I’m guessing Rhys won’t show, so we can go all-out.”

“Great,” Nesta muttered. “I’ll get out the broomsticks and we’ll steal a baby and call it a night.”

She hadn’t celebrated Samhain since leaving the aunts.

She remembered the first Samhain away, still angry with them, so angry she’d closed the blinds in the tiny New York apartment she shared with Elain. She’d sat alone in the dark while Elain stood on the balcony and tilted her face up to the moon, welcoming the ancestors by herself.

Nesta remembered dancing naked in the moonlight as a child, and she’d loved it. The music, the chilly air. The coven their aunts visited on occasion. Before there were any dead to remember.

Now, she didn’t want to remember the dead. Her mother’s absence was still a dull ache. And their father was better left off forgotten.

***

Cassian stared at his phone all day, debating whether to text Nesta. Her rap sheet sat on his desk and as he did other paperwork, answered calls, reviewed other cases, his eyes would stray to it. Naked moonlight dancing. Arson. Nesta was feisty, but he wouldn’t go so far as to profile her as an arsonist. It wasn’t in her.

Or maybe it was. He was realizing he didn’t know anything about her at all. And that rankled him, more than he thought.

 _I need a favor_ , she’d asked, the previous morning. She sounded so vulnerable, almost… afraid. And the relief in her eyes when he said he’d do it, that soft _thank you_. The way she fiercely guarded her sisters. How beautiful she looked when she let her guard down, just for a moment.

And that feeling in his gut. Something about them all. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. Maybe a ride would help clear his head.

He and Az headed home, to the condo they shared with Rhys. Az said nothing more about the Archerons, except for a few bemused looks.

Rhys was cooking, looking distracted, when they got home, and Cassian breezed past to change out of his uniform.

“Going out,” he muttered.

“Where?” Azriel asked. “Gonna go see a certain Archeron girl?”

Rhys straightened sharply, and Cassian and Azriel frowned at each other.

“Rhys? You okay there?”

“Fine,” he said, sounding strangled, bending back over the spaghetti sauce he was stirring.

Cassian frowned again, before glaring at Azriel. “Be back later.”

“Tell Nesta I say hi,” Azriel said. “I hope she enjoys the ride.”

“Who said I was taking Nesta?” Cassian shot back. “Maybe Elain wants to be on the back of a bike. With all that naked dancing, she may have a wild streak.”

He grinned as Azriel worked to keep his face under control. It seemed Elain was quickly becoming a sensitive spot. Azriel didn’t reply except flipping Cassian the bird, and Cassian laughed, flicking two fingers at him in a salute before heading for the door.

Rhys, wearing the same preoccupied, dazed look he’d had that morning, twisted away from the stove to look at Azriel.

“What was that about naked dancing?” he asked. “Elain?”

“We got some shit to tell you,” Azriel muttered. “You’re not going to believe it.”

“Oh, try me,” Rhys said, still sounding strangled.

“The Archerons are weird and keep getting weirder,” Cassian tossed out. “Brace yourself.”

“Too late,” he heard Rhys mutter before hitting the garage.

Nesta flitted across his mind, naked and dancing in the moonlight, beautiful and frightening, and he was glad when the roar of his bike’ engine drowned everything out.

Sunset was just beginning to fall and the moon was rising. The air was crisp, sharp. Autumn whispered at the winter to come. _This is what I needed_ , Cassian thought to himself as the road stretched out ahead of him. _Empty road. Empty sky. Empty mind._

Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself turning up the long, winding road that led to the Archeron house, up on the hill.

He pulled into the drive, and saw the curtain twitch before Feyre opened the front door. “Hey stranger!”

“Hey,” he greeted her, turning off the engine. “Thought I’d stop by and check on you.”

“We’re fine,” she paused. “Um. How’s Rhys?”

“Acting weird.” Cassian looked at Feyre. “Why?”

“No reason.” Feyre said distractedly, then nodded to his bike. “Sweet ride.” 

“Thanks, she’s my pride and joy.” A snort from the porch turned his head. Nesta was leaning against the railing.

“Felt like showing off? All the girls in town sick of your bullshit?” She asked.

Cassian grinned at her. “Thought I’d give them a break and try impressing the prettiest girls in town.”

Nesta’s sound of disgust was drowned out by Elain’s “ _awesome bike!”_

Elain and Feyre drew closer, admiring the gleaming pipes and paint. Nesta itched to follow. Cassian, leather jacket and all, reminded her of the stupid biker club romance novels she devoured in secret. All he needed was a patch and a tattoo.

 _No, he_ doesn’t, she thought. _Get it the fuck together._

“What, you don’t like motorcycles, Nesta?” Cassian called.

She saw Elain and Feyre share a quick, evil smile.

“She _loves_ motorcycles,” Elain said. “She watches _Sons of Anarchy_ , religiously.”

“I swore she told me the other day, she’d _love_ to ride one,” Feyre said. “Right, Nesta?”

 _You are_ so _getting hexed,_ Nesta tried to communicate with her eyes. Feyre waggled her eyebrows.

“That’s right!” Elain said. “Nesta, you have to see this paint job.”

“I can see it just fine from here,” she grit out. If she could shoot fyre from her eyes, she would. Elain grinned, knowing full well what Nesta was thinking.

“I’ve got no plans,” Cassian said. “Nesta? How about it? A ride?”

“We’re about to eat dinner.”

“No we’re not,” Feyre said. “Nesta, you should go! The sunset would be _gorgeous_ by the beach.”

“Then you go see it.”

“She’s helping me with dinner,” Elain shot back, already making her way to Nesta. She grabbed her arm and gently tugged her towards Cassian. “Don’t worry about it. You guys have a great time, and dinner will be ready when you get back.”

“I-” Before she knew what was happening, Cassian shoved a helmet into her hands. “I’m not wearing-”

“Shoes?” Feyre grinned, mysteriously producing a pair from thin air. “They’re here.”

“It’s a little cold-”

“Here,” Cassian shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. Underneath, he wore a long sleeve black henley that clung to his shoulders and biceps.

 _I hate you_ , Nesta mouthed at her sisters, shoving her feet into her boots. She stared at the jacket. Her arms prickled with goosebumps in the thin evening air. “I don’t need this.”

“Sweetheart, it’s below fifty,” Cassian said. “And that tank top isn’t gonna cut it.”

 _Fuck,_ she growled to herself before tugging the jacket on. It was big, and warm, and smelled like Cassian. Like leather and woodsmoke. “Happy?”

“Not as happy as you will be once we hit the road,” he said. “Do you need me to help you buckle the helmet?”

“I’m not a child,” she snapped, firmly securing it on her head.

“Have fun!” Elain and Feyre waved before disappearing into the house.

 _Slugs, I’m turning them into slugs,_ Nesta thought.

“Hop on,” Cassian said, revving the engine.

“Have you ever had… passengers?” Nesta asked, gingerly swinging a leg over the seat behind him.

“A few,” he looked back at her and smiled. “They didn’t mind when I helped buckle their helmets.”

“Fuck off,” Nesta clipped, but there was no venom behind it. 

She hesitated before placing her hands lightly on either side of Cassian’s torso. He reached back and grabbed her wrists, yanking them around his waist until her front was pressed tightly against his warm back. She was close enough she could just rest her chin against his shoulder. Her thighs pressed against the outside of his.

She hadn’t been this close to anyone, let alone a man, in years.

He revved the bike and started backing them into the street.

“Where to?” He called over the sound of the engine.

“Wherever,” Nesta replied, any snark in her voice lost in the wind.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” he said. She just barely heard the words before he revved the engine and they took off.

Nesta had forgotten what it felt like to fly. For all their talk of broomsticks, witches hardly flew anymore, and she hadn’t been on hers in years.

Now, wrapped around Cassian with the twilight air whipping through her hair, she remembered what it was like.

The bike rumbled, powerful beneath her. Much different from a broomstick. Seductively different. But the weightlessness, the speed, the freedom was the same.

Since Cassian couldn’t see her, she allowed herself a smile, a full, exhilarated grin.

When he turned the corner, they leaned instinctively together, balancing against the curve. Seamless.

Even though Nesta’s eyes stung from the wind, she forced them open. She watched the road stretch ahead of them, the trees whipping by, as if beckoning them forward.

Cassian noticed Nesta’s arms relax around him. Her body curled towards his. He liked feeling her warm weight against his back. Even if she had his jacket, she shielded him from the cold, whether she knew it or not.

The sun had gone down below the horizon, and darkness soon stretched ahead. Cassian took a left, and then another, her body pressing against his with each curve. They were winding their way down towards the town, but Nesta tensed again when Cassian turned off the highway onto a dirt road, deep into the trees. She recognized where they were going; to Widow’s Peak, a large cliff that overlooked the town, and to the east, the sea.

Cassian slowed, and rolled to a stop a good fifty feet from the edge. The rumble of the bike echoed in Nesta’s ears even after he turned off the engine, leaving them in silence.

“Widows Peak? Really?” She said. “Are we sixteen year olds trying to figure out what third base is?”

Cassian laughed, and she felt the rumble in his back. She closed her eyes and let herself, for the smallest moment, pretend that this was her life. _Foolish girl,_ a voice in her head whispered. _Weak men. Pathetic men. That’s what an Archeron witch gets. Stone hearts._

Cassian shifted, as if to get off, and Nesta immediately let go, scooting backwards until their bodies were no longer touching, and climbing off. She missed his warmth, and tried to regain her composure.

“So you’ve been here?” He teased, dismounting the bike and stretching. “Were you one of those teenagers?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “It was all a waste of time.”

Cassian grinned, and Nesta pulled off her helmet, running her fingers through her hair. “So you haven’t been here.”

“No,” Nesta snapped, but her heart wasn’t in it. “I thought you were about to murder me when you turned off the road.”

“Somehow, sweetheart, I think you can take care of yourself,” Cassian said. “I’d heard about the view of the sky, without the light pollution. I figured now was as good a time as any to take a look.”

Nesta tipped her head back. There she was, mother moon, watching over her. And the constellations… she hadn’t seen the stars like this in New York, and hadn’t taken the time to look since they’d returned home. “Do you know any constellations?”

“No, but I’m guessing you do,” Cassian sat on a fallen tree near the edge of the cliff, head tilted to the sky. “I see the dipper, that’s about it.”

Nesta shivered, wrapping the coat tighter around her. “There’s the Pegasus Cluster, it’s really only super visible in October. And Cassiopeia, Andromeda.”

Cassian squinted. “Show me.” He patted the spot beside him. “Amaze me.”

Nesta snorted and rolled her eyes. She sat next to him, so close their thighs brushed whenever one of them moved. Nesta traced out the shape of Pegasus with her index finger. “See that square those four stars make?” Cassian nodded, still squinting. “And see that triangle that connects, but flares out at the end? And the three lines on the other end?”

Cassian leaned his head closer to hers, looking directly past her finger. “I think. Where are the wings?”

“There are none.”

“Then why is it a Pegasus?”

“I... have no idea.”

“Show me the other ones,” Cassian said, still leaning in, squinting to the sky. “Where did you learn these? Your-”

“Aunts, yes.” Nesta finished. “There,” she traced Cassiopeia’s outline, and then down to Andromeda. “Cassiopeia, and her daughter, Andromeda.”

Cassian’s face lit up when he saw the stars. “I see them.” Nesta dropped her hand, and they sat there, just watching the stars. She ignored how unsettled Cassian made her feel, sitting so close. But soon the tension melted from her muscles. With Cassian, warm and mellow beside her, quietly watching the sky, Nesta found she could breathe easy.

“Andromeda’s my favorite,” Nesta said after a while, breaking the easy silence.

“Why’s that?”

 _Because Andromeda had to sacrifice everything, because she wasn’t given a choice._ Nesta thought. _Because she won a good man’s heart. And he rescued her._

Instead, she said, “because she wasn’t afraid. She was ready to die if that meant protecting those she loved.”

She felt Cassian’s eyes on her and fixed hers firmly on the sky. _Don’t look at him, don’t look at him,_ her heart, while heavy, still thundered.

Cassian watched her watch the stars. She called to him, this almost soft, unguarded Nesta. The real Nesta.

“Can I ask you something?” Cassian asked. “Free pass.”

Nesta considered snapping a harsh _no_ , a _fuck off_ , storming away. This friendship he was trying to build… _not for me. No one is for me._

_But I can pretend, just once._

“Okay,” she said. 

Cassian thought about the arson cases. The dancing. The weird quirks, the secrecy. He wondered about the real Nesta hidden behind glacial looks and barbed words. 

“Why did you leave?”

She tried for nonchalance. “It was time to move on.”

“Move on from what?”

“Why does it matter?”

 _Because I want to know everything about you,_ Cassian thought. “Because there’s a story there.”

“ _No_ ,” her voice was brittle, harsh, shocking them both. “Sometimes it’s best to forget them.”

“Was it to do with the Mandray house fire?”

Nesta jerked, whipping her head to meet his eyes. “How did you know about that?”

“Police files. Lucien asked for them,” Cassian lied.

“There wasn’t any proof,” Nesta snapped. “Just the accusations of the cockroach who lived in it.”

Cassian furrowed his brow. “What happened?”

Nesta shook her head, feeling her palms prickle. Anger, hot and hard rising in her chest. And fear, icy, creeping down her spine to mingle together in her stomach, a roiling sea of emotion. The Mandrays. She almost wished she _had_ burned them all to the ground. “I pass. I’m not explaining that to you, or to anyone.” She moved to stand, but Cassian grabbed her arm, lightly.

“I know it was false,” Cassian said. “I know whatever it was, they were wrong.”

“You can’t possibly know that,” Nesta argued. _Because they weren’t wrong_.

She remembered the look in Tomas Mandray’s eyes when she flung a ball of fire at him, knocking him back. His clawing hands finally ripped away from her skirt, her hair. The fear in his eyes when she stood over him, prepared to call to her witchfyre and burn his flesh from his bones. And fleeing, when the anger had given way to fear.

He died in a car accident three weeks after she left town. Whether he loved her or not, Tomas was dead, another weak man who’d lured in an Archeron witch. Another casualty of the Archeron curse.

The monster her aunts had all but sacrificed her to, unknowingly. Chained one way or another, Nesta had stared him in the face, and fought for her own freedom. _Because there is no hero, or prince,_ she thought bitterly. _Not for Archeron witches._

Her heart was like a heavy stone, and she liked it that way.

Cassian noted how Nesta had tensed when he reached for her, and gently released her arm. “Nesta, I-”

“Take me home,” she clipped, wrapping his jacket closer around her against the night air. “I”m done with this stupid questions game.” She glared at him. “No more.”

“Okay,” Cassian said, watching her silhouette, lit by the moon. “Nesta, I’m sorry.”

But the moment was over. She shook her head and strode to the bike, tugging the helmet on, not looking at him. Cassian’s heart sank as the glacial Nesta returned, locking the soft Nesta inside. His hands itched to touch her, to run his fingers through her hair. He wanted to kiss her. Kiss her until she forgot to put up her shields.

He almost did, leaning into her, watching the stars, the same color as her eyes. And then he ruined it.

“Home,” Nesta snapped.

The ride home was different. Even with her arms wrapped around him, he could feel the tension in her whole body, as if she were debating letting go at any moment.

The Mandrays had upset her. Hurt her, possibly, and he was angry at himself for bringing it up. And he was furious at them, whoever they were, for putting that scared, angry look in Nesta’s eyes.

Nesta resisted pressing her face against his back, resisted seeking comfort. _What am I doing,_ she thought. _Goddess, this got out of hand, and I have no idea how._

When Cassian pulled into her driveway, he parked the bike and dismounted, turning to her before she could get off.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and reached for her wrist, gently. “That wasn’t a fair question; it caught you off guard, and I won’t go there again.”

Nesta felt the apology in her bones. He meant it. It echoed in his eyes, his fiery brown eyes that she would think of that night, as she drifted off to sleep. _I don’t deserve the apology_.

She wasn’t innocent Andromeda. She deserved the chains, even if some were from the sins of others.

Because she was weak, she didn’t rip her hand away and turn her back on him. “Thanks for the ride,” she said.

Cassian smiled softly. “Anytime.”

She imagined for a moment, that she was normal. That her life wasn’t about murder and curses and stone hearts. That this was a date, and Cassian was bringing her home.

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. _Stupid girl_ , she tore her eyes from his and stepped back. “Good night, Cassian,” she said, spinning on her heel and forced herself to climb the porch stairs with measured steps and close the front door gently behind her.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he called. She didn’t snap at him for the nickname. 

She watched him from the living room window as he turned his bike around and drove away into the night, tail lights shining.

Nesta realized he hadn’t asked for his jacket back. She tucked it firmly around herself, and pretended it was armor.

***

Cassian found Azriel and Rhys playing poker in the kitchen.

“How was Nesta?” Azriel asked. Cassian shrugged and sat, distracted. Azriel furrowed his brow. “Seriously, is she okay?”

“Fine,” Cassian said. _I fucked up._

“Where’s your jacket?”

 _Nesta._ When they said goodbye, she hadn’t tried to give it back. And he hadn’t wanted to ask for it. He let himself pretend for a moment that he lent her his jacket all the time.

Azriel looked between his brothers. “What is wrong with both of you?”

“Nothing!” Rhys said. Azriel narrowed his eyes at the overenthusiasm.

“Nothing,” Cassian echoed.

“Nothing,” Az repeated. He tossed his cards on the table and crossed his arms. “Then why do you look like someone kneed you in the balls and Rhys looks like he’s been about to shit himself all day?”

Rhys threw down his cards. “I have not!”

“Yes, you have,” Azriel said. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Feyre-” he stopped. “Feyre… freaked me out today.”

“Obviously,” Ariel said. “What happened?”

Rhys looked uneasy. “She uh, said some crazy stuff.”

“Like, ‘the earth is flat’ crazy, or ‘I see dead people’ crazy?”

“That they’re witches.”

Cassian jerked his head back. “You mean like, into astrology and crystals and shit?”

“Uh. Yeah. Something like that.” Rhys tried not to fidget.

Witches. Somehow, it made sense. Nesta’s quirks now had a pattern.

“What, did she tell you they sacrifice babies and worship the devil?” Azriel asked. “Because that’s on another level.”

“ _No,_ ” Rhys said. “But it sounds like they’re into some weird stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Well… she invited me, us, to celebrate, uh, Sour-rin?” Rhys rubbed his eyes. “That’s not quite right, but something like that. I guess it’s their version of Halloween.”

“Do we have to dance naked?” Cassian grinned at Azriel. “Because I’m in.”

“Yeah, what the hell did you mean by that?” Rhys asked.

They told him about the sisters’ files, the counts of public indecency. Cassian omitted the arson, wincing when he thought of Nesta. The rawness in her eyes when she whirled on him…

“What do you think, Cassian?” Azriel shook him out of his thoughts. “We doing this thing?”

“Hell yeah.” He mustered a grin. He just hoped Nesta didn’t try to light him on fire too.

“I guess so,” Rhys muttered.

***

Rhys was just getting into bed when Feyre winnowed into his room. He yelped in surprise and stumbled, knocking over his bedside lamp. “Stop doing that!”

“Oh Goddess,” Feyre muttered. “I’m so sorry. Let me-” Before Rhys could say anything, she’d waved a hand. “Brittle glass, patch it fast.” And the pieces flew back together.

“Fuck,” Rhys muttered. “Feyre-”

“I know,” she cut him off. “And I’m so sorry for barging in-”

“Rhys?” She froze at Cassian’s voice at the door. “You okay?”

“Fine!” Rhys called, sounding strangled. “Just going to bed!”

“I heard something break?”

“I ah, knocked over my lamp! I got it! Goodnight!”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Cassian muttered. They waited until his footsteps faded from the hall.

“Why are you here?” Rhys hissed. “ _How_ do you _do_ that?”

“Magic, I’ll explain later.” Feyre sat on the bed, and patted the spot next to her. “Please, Rhys. It’s important.”

He sighed and sat, watching her warily.

“I know I’m in no position to ask this of you,” Feyre said. “But I need to know you won’t tell anyone about me or my sisters.”

“Or what?”

“Or nothing,” Feyre sighed. “I didn’t mean for that to sound like a threat.”

“Well, I told my brothers about Samhain.”

Feyre tensed. “What about it?”

“That you invited us over. That you guys are witches. Not like, _magic_ witches,” he rushed to explain. “But like, into crystals. Stuff like that. I don’t know if I could even explain… everything else.”

Feyre exhaled sharply in relief. “I guess they might as well know. They’ve probably heard shit like that around town anyways.”

“They suspected something,” Rhys said. “It was the easiest thing to say.”

“Yeah.” She looked at him sideways. “Thanks. For not blowing our cover.”

“It would be a hard sell,” Rhys rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it. You can trust me.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said. “Are we… okay?”

“Are we still invited to Samhain?” Rhys countered.

“Yes,” Feyre smiled. “If only to show Nesta you’re not a flight risk.”

“Then yeah, we’re good.” Rhys grinned back. “I just need… time, wrapping my head around all of this.”

“Of course,” Feyre said. “As long as you don’t storm the house with pitchforks or anything.”

Rhys laughed, and Feyre felt the tension wash away. “No promises. But that disappearing thing still freaks me out.”

“Speaking of which,” Feyre said, standing. “Thanks, for hearing me out. And I do have to go. I’ll explain it later. I promise.”

She waved, shimmered and disappeared in a whirl of shadows. Rhys shook his head and knew he’d have trouble falling asleep that night.

But still, when he finally did, he dreamt of Feyre.

And one room over, Cassian stared at the ceiling, wide away, thinking about Nesta behind him on the bike, and the feeling of flying down the highway, together.


	10. You Have Witchcraft In Your Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: this chapter discusses a sexual assault scenario and alludes to some sexual violence, but nothing extreme or explicit. Regardless, please take care! Also, this chapter brought to you by Hozier, along with the songs below. Also, somehow this fic is becoming riddled with Shakespeare references, and I'm really not mad about it.
> 
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -Talk, by Hozier  
> -Scarborough Fair, Simon & Garfunkel  
> -Bible Belt, Dry the River  
> -Hallelujah, HAIM  
> -Miss Bottom of the Hill, Iron & Wine  
> -Only Love Can Hurt Like This, Paloma Faith  
> -This Kiss, Faith Hill  
> -Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac

_I've come to know that I was stealin' all your kisses on the evenin'  
The dogs were loose and lyin' on the street  
You've learned to blend into the choir  
How to hold your hand in fire  
And what to say instead of what you mean  
But the trouble it saves for just how hard it can be_

_-Miss Bottom of the Hill, Iron & Wine_

_I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd do  
So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you_

_-Talk, Hozier_

_"You have witchcraft in your lips."_

_-Henry V_

“Rhys is still coming,” Feyre told her sisters while they chopped wood in the backyard for the Samhain bonfire. “He said Cassian and Azriel are coming too.”

“So he spilled the beans to them and in doing so, forfeited his soul?” Nesta grunted, splitting a log. “Great. I guess we’ll just burn him or something.”

“No,” Feyre snapped. “He promised he’d keep it a secret. They only think we’re Wicca. That’s it.” She heaved the split wood onto the large pile in the firepit.

“They already know too much,” Nesta muttered. Her thoughts drifted to Cassian. He’d texted her, two days ago, the morning after their ride, _are you okay? Call me._ She hadn’t opened the messages; anxiety and confusion threatened to drown her everytime she tried to respond.

She hadn’t thought about the Mandray fires in years. She’d blocked it from her mind since the incident, and had hoped that was enough to all but erase Tomas Mandray from her life.

“We weren’t good at hiding it,” Elain said, stacking more wood next to Nesta. “They were bound to think _something_.”

“Have you Seen anything about this?” Nesta asked.

Elain stared into the distance, eyes flickering. “I can’t tell. There’s a crossroads somewhere, and it’s throwing me off. Whether they know or they don’t, a decision has to be made.”

“Then we have to make sure we choose the right one,” Nesta said, swinging the axe with . She loved splitting wood; loved the power she felt with an axe in hand.

“We need to set up the altar,” Elain said. “I found some pictures of mom.”

Nesta sighed. “Should we put the aunts on there too?”

“No,” Feyre said. “They’re not dead, we’d know it.”

“Would we? They might’ve been dead for the past five years for all we know,” Nesta snapped. “Damn witches.”

Feyre tilted her head. “Why are you-”

“We’d know,” Elain said, glancing between her sisters. “We’ll keep looking. Feyre, any luck with the dreams?”

Feyre shook her head. She’d tried that night and the night before; but she only found darkness. No sign of Mor or Amren anywhere. “They’re using powerful charms, or wards or something.”

“That reminds me,” Nesta said. “We need to be extra careful about warding the house for Samhain. There’s been too much weird shit going on and I don’t want to take any chances.”

Elain and Feyre agreed.

They heard the roar of a motorcycle passing the house, and Nesta stiffened until it faded into the distance. “I’m going to get some lunch,” she said, lodging the axe blade into the tree stump they used as the splitting block. She went into the house and slammed the back door.

“What do you think happened?” Feyre asked Elain. “Maybe we pushed her too hard with the motorcycle thing.”

“No,” Elain said, eyes flashing. “Cassian’s safe. I’ve Seen all of them, snippets. They’re not going to hurt us.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t piss her off,” Feyre said. “Do you think he said anything?”

Elain shrugged. “With Nesta, you never know.”

“What was that about the aunts?” Feyre asked. “I know she thinks we should find them, but it’s almost like she doesn’t _want_ to.”

Elain shook her head. “That’s between them and Nesta.”

“She said they fought?” Feyre asked. “After I left.”

“They did, it was bitter and it was intense,” Elain said. “But it’s up to Nesta if she wants to tell you.”

“You know what it is?”

“Pieces of it,” Elain admitted. “But she won’t even tell me the whole of it. There’s more and it’s up to her when she wants to tell us.”

“Will this interfere with finding the aunts?” Feyre asked. “Like, do they _know_ she’s still this angry?”

Elain shrugged. “They love us more than life itself. And their fight was… brutal.” She shook her head. “If you want to know, ask Nesta. She’ll talk about it when she’s ready.”

“Shouldn’t I know what’s going on?” Feyre asked, irritated. “I’m not walking into this blind.”

“Yes, you should,” Elain said. “And Nesta should be the one to explain it. All I can tell you is they fought, not long after you left, and then we left the next week.”

“Did you _want_ to leave?” Feyre asked.

Elain sighed. “Yes and no. I’d just broken it off with Graysen, and was angry with Nesta. But then, there really wasn’t anything left for us here. I wanted to go to college. She wanted to go back to New York. So we did.”

Elain thought of the shouting. Of Nesta and Mor and Amren facing off in the backyard, firelight flickering across their stony faces. Of herself, cowering on the porch, heartbroken and lonely, and so very tired.

“Fine,” Feyre said. “I don’t want to upset her, but I deserve to know _something_.”

Elain nodded. “You’re right. But don’t push her. I think something terrible happened, and she won’t talk about it.”

Feyre knew what that felt like. “Okay.” She hefted an armful of wood. “I got this. Can you gather the other plants and herbs?”

Elain winked. “Of course I can.”

She left Feyre to the chopping and headed into the woods with a wicker basket she’d woven badly when she was twelve. Mor had praised it as the best basket she’d seen. Amren had snorted, but Elain had seen her proud smile.

She hummed as she walked, and flowers bloomed along her path. She savored the warm rush it sent through her veins, to use her powers so freely. In New York, she’d only had a balcony and a window box, and felt stifled.

She gathered oak leaves and acorns, angelica and rue, and gleefully shoved fistfulls of heather and mint and the last of the sunflowers, before the frost killed the rest, into her basket.

 _Parsley and sage, rosemary and thyme,_ Elain hummed, and the plants grew, stems twisting gently around her wrists as she bent to pick them. Calendula and marigold bloomed, their fiery orange blossoms an echo to the leaves above. They reminded her of Nesta.

Elain paused in a patch of sunlight through a break in the trees. She unlaced her sneakers, digging her feet into the lush grass. She felt shoots poke up around her toes.

 _My body is earth, my body is earth, my body is the earth,_ she thought, closing her eyes. Her magic hummed in her veins, and she stretched towards the sky, like her favorite trees.

She opened her mouth and sang, “ _parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme_ ,” and felt the trees answer. Leaves burst from their branches, vines snaked along her ankles. The Simon & Garfunkel song always brought out the best in her magic. She could sing the canticle for hours and hours until she was standing in a field of flowers, even in the middle of December.

She looked forward to Samhain, and using her powers. To sing underneath the moon and welcome their ancestors… but they wouldn’t get to, not with the Knight brothers. Even if Rhys knew their secret, Az and Cassian were liabilities.

So she had to celebrate by herself, out in the woods, without anyone to see.

She reached for her Sight. It had been dormant of late, which unnerved her. Lucien, especially, was a blind spot.

The Knight brothers were not as blurred, but still hard to see. Only snippets of hands, eyes, faces. Nothing concrete. But they called to her, even if she didn’t know what to do about it. That was the problem with her visions. They didn’t give her directions, only hints.

She’d try again on Samhain, when the moon was full and the veil was thin, and see if she could delve further. Maybe she’d meditate on Lucien and try to pierce whatever shrouded him.

Maybe she’d meditate on Azriel.

She hadn’t spoken to Azriel since dinner with Lucien, several nights ago. She struggled between orchestrating a meeting in town, or just finding her spine and calling him. She’d hoped Cassian would bring him by, but after his ride with Nesta… Elain wasn’t sure she’d see the sheriff or his deputy on their doorstep for awhile.

 _It’s what friends do,_ he’d said, the last time they spoke. _Friends_. Elain loved her sisters, loved the solitude of the forest. But she’d missed company. One of the few things she liked about New York was the variety of people, meeting new and different ones each day.

And Azriel was the best kind; he was relaxed, silent. And their silence was never stiff or empty. It was peaceful. She liked his presence, even sitting in the car, with a million things unspoken.

If aunt Mor were here, she’d slip Elain some dill or coltsfoot, for sensual love spells or general love magick. Elain blushed at the thought. Mor was brazen, always teasing Elain about her timidness. Amren would have snorted and told Elain to either shit or get off the pot.

 _He loves you, he loves you not?_ She’d sneer. _Men don’t know their own minds. Either you tell him, or you don’t. But don’t expect a man to come to his own conclusions about love. Especially not about Archeron women._

Archeron women. She thought of the Archeron Curse. Elain sighed. Nesta, she knew, believed in it more than anything else. She wasn’t so sure she believed in it. Graysen had been a weak man, but that had been the end of it. No tragic deaths. But he may not have loved her the way she loved him.

Azriel was not a weak man. She didn’t know if that meant the curse wasn’t true, or if he simply wasn’t interested in her at all, because he wasn’t weak.

Being an Archeron witch was exhausting. She thought of Nesta’s true love spell, Feyre’s debacle. Sometimes she felt so suffocated under the weight of the Archeron name.

But out here in the forest, she could breathe. And pretend maybe that Azriel could be…

Her eyes flew open. She Sensed it before she heard it, the unmistakable sound of a branch snapping.

Feyre and Nesta knew how to walk through the forest like they were of the forest itself, soundless.

Elain dropped her arms, the vines retreated. She shoved her feet into her shoes and gathered her basket, pressing her back against the tree.

Her nerves sang, on edge.

Another branch snapped, and she considered fleeing, like a fawn into the woods.

“Elain?” Lucien rounded a tree, stepping into her line of sight, and she shrieked in surprise. “Is that you?”

“Lucien.” She cleared her throat, hand to her chest. _Did he see me? My magic? Oh, Goddess, please…_ “What are you doing here?”

“I went for a hike,” he said, drawing closer. “Got lost, I guess. I’d heard about the views.” He looked surprised. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Elain didn’t buy it. “I, ah. Live around here.” She gestured in the direction of the house, and suddenly felt very aware of how alone they were. Her sisters wouldn’t expect her back for at least an hour or two.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s right.”

They stared at each other. Elain wondered if she should get it over with and bury him alive, or if she should play it off and pretend everything was fine.

“How have you been?” He asked. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Fine.” Elain said. “Busy. The usual.”

“Picking flowers?” He gestured to the basket. “Beautiful. May I?”

She reluctantly handed over the basket. “How’s um. How’s the case?”

“Fine,” Lucien said absently, sifting through the blossoms. “The autopsy came back.”

 _Oh Goddess. It’s time to bury him._ Elain feigned disinterest. “Oh? And?”

“You know,” Lucien said, as if he hadn’t heard her, “one of the most interesting things about flowers is how versatile some of them can be.” He picked up a marigold. “Great for keeping away pests, brightens up a garden.” He smiled. “But I’m sure you knew that already, miss plant biologist.”

Elain narrowed her eyes. _Is he teasing me? What is he getting at?_ “Yes, I’m familiar with quite a few.” She held out a hand for the basket. “My sisters are expecting me, actually.”

“Of course, I’m sorry to keep you.” He moved to hand it back, but plucked a stem, with small purple berries. “What an unusual plant.”

 _Belladonna_ . She’d hesitated to put it in her basket, upon finding a patch that Mor had planted, _just in case, my loves,_ she’d said. She’d slipped it in. Just in case.

Elain shrugged and faked a smile. “Beautiful. You never know what you find in the forest.”

“What’s this one?” he asked.

“African violet,” Elain lied. “Nothing special.”

“Ah.” Lucien dropped it back into her basket. “Actually, while I have you, may I ask you a question? Strictly professional. I need your expertise.”

 _Fuck no._ “Of course,” Elain said. “Ask away.”

“Tamlin’s autopsy reported he had high levels of belladonna in his system,” Lucien said, and Elain fought to keep her magic from skittering out her fingertips, from awakening the branches at his feet. _I’m not going to throw up, I’m not going to throw up,_ she repeated, curling her toes. She wished she could bury them in the dirt again. “And,” Lucien continued. “I found that very odd. Belladonna, of all things. I’m aware it’s a poison, but…”

“It’s a sleeping agent,” Elain cleared her throat, and was grateful her voice was steady. “As far as I know, it can be used to treat a variety of symptoms, from nausea to pain to your average cough. It’s got a very long history of medicinal use. Alternative medicine still favors it.”

“Ah,” Lucien said. “And you think he would have taken it for something like that?”

“You were his friend, weren't you?” Elain shot back. “And you _were_ in L.A.” She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine why he took it. It’s very possible he got his dosage wrong.”

“I see.” Lucien’s golden eye shimmered, and Elain wondered if it had something to do with her not being able to See anything about him. “That’s very helpful information, thank you Elain.” He smiled at her. “Well. It was nice to see you.”

 _I’m sure it was, motherfucker,_ Elain shifted from foot to foot. “You too.” She paused. “Weird to run into you so close to my home.”

It was Lucien’s turn to look slightly uncomfortable. “Well. It’s a small mountain you live on.”

“Smaller than I thought,” Elain said. “Anyway. Goodbye, Lucien.” She forced herself to move casually, pretending she wasn’t about to bolt any second.

“Bye, Elain,” he called. She felt his gaze on her back as she faded into the trees, and was grateful she knew how to blend in.

Once she was out of earshot, she practically flew back towards the house, wishing for her broomstick, now dusty with neglect, tucked in the corner of the kitchen.

***

After Elain had gone off in search of Samhain herbs and supplies, Feyre had _thwacked_ the axe into the tree stump and gone off in search of Nesta.

She found her sitting on the front porch swing, staring at the blue sky.

“Hey,” she said, easing herself down next to Nesta. “So. What’s with you and the aunts?”

“What did Elain tell you?” Nesta refused to turn her head.

“That you had a bad fight after I left,” Feyre said. “And you haven’t seen them since.”

Nesta shrugged. “Shit happened.”

“That’s all I get?” Feyre asked after a moment. “‘Shit happened’?”

“What do you want me to say, Feyre?” Nesta snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Nesta,” Feyre said gently. “If I’m going to help look for the aunts, I need to know why they left in the first place, and why it seems like you prefer them gone.”

“That’s _not_ true,” Nesta hissed. “I can’t believe you’d even say that.”

“Is it?” Feyre raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry, but you seem _so angry_. I just want to know why.”

Nesta exhaled loudly, half groan, half sigh. “I honestly don’t know if I can talk about it without screaming.”

Feyre crossed her legs and sat sideways on the swing to face Nesta fully. “Is it… Are you… okay?”

“No,” Nesta said. “But there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”

“Okay,” Feyre said. “But, do you think you could tell me? Elain’s being cryptic, and neither of us know what’s going on. We’re worried, what the hell happened?”

“The aunts…” Nesta trailed off. _What happened?_ She was so sick of hearing that question. She’d nearly cracked when Cassian had asked, and hated him for it. “The big fight we had was about a spell they put on me.”

Feyre gaped at her. “What do you mean? They would _never-_ ”

“They would,” Nesta said. “They did.”

Feyre stared at her. “Is this why you were so angry you almost lit Velaris on fire, the day after we got here?” Feyre recalled the anger in Nesta’s eyes, her brittle voice. The rattling of candles. She’d been so deep into her own pain she hadn’t recognized Nesta’s.

“Yes.”

“Can you - can you tell me about it? If it’s not too…”

“Oh, it’s upsetting,” Nesta said. She leaned back in the porch swing. _I will not cry,_ she told herself. _I will_ not _cry. It’s not worth it._ She clenched her fists, her fingernails digging half-moons into her palms. “Fine. Fuck. You remember the Mandrays.”

“Yes, the oldest was friends with Graysen,” Feyre said. She paused. “Weren’t you two dating, when I left?”

“Not quite. He was interested, but I wasn’t.” Nesta said. “And a little bit before you left, all of a sudden… I was.”

Feyre waited for Nesta to continue.

“We dated, we fell in love, or at least, I thought we did,” Nesta’s voice was somber, and steady, and it worried Feyre more than if she’d yelled. “And then it was like a switch flipped. He turned into a monster and I broke it off.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’d like to know.”

 _If anyone would understand, Feyre would._ Nesta thought. “He’d been pushy, about sleeping together, but gentlemanly when I kept putting him off.” She’d wondered what was wrong with her at the time. Supposedly, she’d loved him, and had wanted to. 

But the thought of sleeping with him had made her feel like a bird caught in a cage, breathless and trapped. From the very beginning.

“And then,” she continued. “One night, I think it was after Elain broke up with Graysen, he was so _angry_ with me when I put him off again. Said I’d ruined his life, his friend’s life, which was bullshit,” she rolled her eyes, and took a deep breath. “He accused me of trying to break away, all of us. Said I didn’t love him. He said he wanted to marry me.”

Feyre nodded. This all sounded far too familiar.

“And then suddenly he was… on _top_ of me,” Nesta barely choked the words out. “And he wouldn’t get off, and he was grabbing at my skirt, and oh Goddess, Feyre, it was…” she finally turned to look at her sister. _I will not cry in front of Feyre_. But how she wanted to. Images, cold, scrabbling hands, fear in her throat. The simmering of her palms as her fyre flared to life. The utter hatred that blossomed in her chest.

“I was so scared,” she said. “And I was so angry. And before I knew it, I’d lit him and the house on fire.” The nightmares she’d been having, since killing Tamlin, all of Tomas. Another pair of cold, scrabbling hands in the dark.

Nesta hated the mixture of pity and sadness on Feyre’s face, but couldn’t bring herself to snipe at her for it. “He died two weeks later,” she said. “I don’t know if it was the Archeron Curse of bad luck. But I didn’t really care.” When her voice broke on the last syllable, Feyre reached for Nesta’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“He was a monster,” Feyre said. “None of that was your fault. Curse or not. _Nothing_ was your fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Nesta’s voice was rough, and angry. “It was the aunts’.”

“What do you mean?”

“They cast a love spell on me,” Nesta said. “And for some ungodly reason, they thought _Tomas Mandray_ was a good pick.They cast one on him too, I think.”

Feyre inhaled sharply. _That_ can’t _be true,_ she thought. “How do you know?”

“They told me, after I was almost arrested for arson and ‘attacking Tomas,’,” Nesta said. She was proud she hadn’t cried yet, but her eyes were hot. “They sat me down and it all came out, how they thought I was just scared and lonely and how happy they thought you were, and how bitter they thought _I_ was because I disapproved of Elain’s engagement. They said I ‘deserved my own happiness.’” She made air quotes with the hand that wasn’t in Feyre’s grasp. “I don’t know if it was a cruel trick or an honest attempt, but I didn’t care. Mor and I had it out in the backyard, I almost lit the entire forest on fire, and then that was it. Elain and I packed our bags and left.”

Mor had screamed so loudly she’d whipped up a gale wind that battered both her and Nesta. Amren’s eyes had nearly turned black. Nesta’s witchfyre flowed easily from her fingertips, until the entire backyard was a sea of orange and blue flame. She’d felt more powerful than she ever had, even more than when she almost burned the Mandray house to the ground.

She and Elain had left the aunts in the middle of the scorched, barren field and fled to New York.

“I had no idea,” Feyre murmured. “I don’t… I never got any letters, after awhile. Tamlin would read them sometimes, and he’d ‘lose’ them. And I assumed everyone was just angry with me. I had absolutely no idea.”

“They probably vanished not long after that,” Nesta said. “Whether to go lick their wounds or look for us, I have no idea. They probably knew where we were.”

“They would never run away from us,” Feyre said. “ _Never_.”

“Well, they did from me,” Nesta said. “I don’t know if I chased them away, or if they were too ashamed to come back. I have no _fucking_ idea why _any_ of this had to happen.”

She swiped angrily at the tears that tracked down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said. “About everything.”

“It wasn’t _your_ fault,” Nesta said.

“And it wasn’t yours either,” Nesta was surprised at the firmness in Feyre’s voice. “ _Any_ of it, Nesta. Do you hear me?”

Nesta nodded, slowly. Feyre watched her subtly wipe at her eyes.

“So, now you know,” Nesta said. “And if we need them to help us, fine. But I just don’t know if I can forgive them. Not yet.”

Feyre nodded. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Nesta said. “For not… that is…”

“Hey,” Feyre squeezed Nesta’s hand. “It’s going to be okay. Okay? We’re here. We’re in this together.”

Nesta nodded again, face tilted to the sky. “Goddess. I haven’t told that to anyone.”

“Thank you,” Feyre said quietly. “For trusting me.”

Nesta didn’t respond, but Feyre knew she’d been heard.

They sat there awhile, in silence. Feyre felt like she and Nesta had finally broken down one of the many walls that used to stand between them, and she let the newfound closeness wash over her. Nesta seemed lighter herself, but didn’t say much else.

Nesta didn’t think much on the aunts, when they were in New York, on purpose, to avoid flying into fits of angry tears. The betrayal still felt fresh.

But they needed help. And time was running out.

She was contemplating calling Cassian, whether to ask for help or apologize, she wasn’t sure, when Elain flew around the corner of the house, sweaty and frightened.

“What the hell?” Feyre muttered, trotting down the steps. “Elain, what the hell happened to you?”

“It’s Lucien,” Elain gasped for breath. “He just appeared in the woods, scared the shit out of me, an oh my Goddess, he has the autopsy.”

Nesta leaned her head back against the swing and contemplated how much bad news she could withstand. “Fuck.”

“And?” Feyre’s voice rose several octaves.

“Belladonna. In his bloodstream,” she gasped for air. “He asked me about it, he knows I have a background in plants, but Goddess, I just got this _sense_ ,” Elain nearly collapsed on the porch stairs, still panting. “It’s like he _knows._ ”

“That’s impossible,” Feyre said.

“We keep saying that, and this shit keeps happening, so I’m beginning to think it _is_ ,” Nesta snapped, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes. She was too exhausted for hysterics. “Fine. We’ll just bury him in the backyard and blame the aunts.”

“ _Nesta_ ,” Elain and Feyre snapped.

“ _What?”_ She shrilled back. “We’re out of options besides going to prison. This is it. We’re done.”

“Call Cassian,” Feyre said to Nesta. “ _Now. Please._ ”

“What, you want to confess?” Nesta snapped. “As your lawyer, I don’t advise it.” She turned to Elain. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Elain ran through the encounter, and Nesta sighed. “At least you have a reason for even knowing anything about belladonna.”

“Do you think he’ll call us in?” Elain asked.

“it’s practically been dangled in front of his nose,” Nesta said. “But Cassian said he’d screen them before Vanserra even had a chance to look over-” she froze. “Oh Goddess. He’s seen them. He must have.”

She scrabbled for her phone, left discarded on the railing, and sure enough, she had two missed calls from Sheriff Cassian Knight.

***

Cassian stared at the toxicology report. As promised, Vanserra had shoved the sealed envelope at Cassian, and watched as the sheriff glanced over and copied the papers. When Cassian went to return the originals, Vanserra had snatched them out of his hand and flew out of the station, without another word.

Cassian wondered if he should follow him. But the autopsy drew his attention.

 _Belladonna, the hell is that?_ He wasn’t up on his poisons. A quick google search revealed the plant, and its many uses. He wondered what would have possessed someone to use _belladonna_ of all things to poison Rose, but then, the killer may have had some sort of fucked up botanist’s sense of humor.

He had no idea if this marked the Archeron sisters as guilty or innocent. In fact, he had no idea whatsoever if they even _knew_ what the herb was.

He decided to call Nesta, even if the thought sent butterflies rioting through his stomach. His heart had nearly broken to see her so sad and scared the other night, and hated himself for probing where she obviously still felt wounded. He dreaded calling her at all, but she’d asked for the autopsy update.

It rang and went to voicemail, and he panicked and hung up before he could draft a message. What would he say, _Hey, Nesta, sorry I ruined your night and nearly kissed you_ or _can I have my jacket back_ or _can we try again?_

None of those sounded right, and he grunted before calling again. This time, he was in the process of stumbling through a voicemail when the phone rang, Nesta returning his call.

“Nesta,” he said. _Be cool, be cool._ “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Is everything alright?” She asked. She sounded strange, as if she was a few threads away from snapping.

“Fine,” he said. “Are _you_?”

“What is it?” She dodged the question. He resisted prying.

“Vanserra dropped the autopsy report on my desk this morning. I thought you’d want to know.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yeah,” Cassian said. “Poison. Some plant called belladonna.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“You’re familiar with it?” He asked. “Your sisters?”

“We’ve heard of it,” Nesta said. She sounded nervous.

“And?” Cassian said. “Does this mean anything to you? Have any idea why Rose would have it?”

A long pause. “Cassian,” Nesta’s voice was rough, and he realized it sounded like she’d been crying, or on the verge of tears. “Look. Now’s not a great time for this. Can you-”

“Is this about the other night?” He blurted out. _Smooth._ He contemplated slamming his forehead onto the desk. “I know I started asking questions, and it wasn’t fair to you-”

“ _No_ , it’s _fine_ ,” Nesta’s voice rose a few octaves, and his gut tingled. _A lie,_ it whispered. _She’s upset._

“I can stop by-”

“You left your jacket-”

Their words tumbled over each other.

“Right,” Cassian pushed on. “Great. Look, I’ll swing by and grab it-”

“ _No_ ,” Nesta said. “No, I can drop it-”

“Nesta,” he said. “Please. I want to apologize. For the other night.”

“It’s fine,” she said again. “Forget about it.”

He could sense her walls closing in. “Nesta. It’s not. Let me apologize. Please.”

Silence.

“Besides,” he continued. “Vanserra has the report now. I want you to see it in person, before he can get to you.”

“Too late,” Nesta mumbled, and he blinked in surprise. _The hell does that mean?_ “Fine,” Nesta said. “Bring it over.” She hung up, and he was left with the dial tone, wondering what he’d done wrong.

Nesta sat on the front porch, trying not to wring her hands. Elain and Feyre were next to her, clutching cups of Elain’s soothing tea.

“We have to tell him,” Feyre said. “Before things get worse.”

“And what’ll we say? Lucien’s _stalking_ me, we murdered your ex boyfriend because he tried to throttle you?” Elain asked, voice dull. “And then we buried him in the desert?”

“It’s self-defense,” Feyre argued.

“No, the evidence would point to premeditated murder,” Nesta said faintly. “And the burying of the body really wouldn’t help our case.”

“We could fake our deaths,” Feyre suggested. “Before any of this shit gets worse.”

“Something tells me Lucien would catch on,” Elain shivered. “Goddess, he gives me the _creeps_.”

“He’s not right,” Nesta agreed. “But one motherfucking problem at a time.”

“He _is_ the motherfucking problem.” Said Elain, as Cassian’s squad car turned into the driveway.

“Let me handle this,” Nesta stood.

“What happened with you two?” Feyre asked. 

Nesta winced. “He asked about Tomas. It caught me off-guard, and I panicked.”

Cassian and Azriel got out of the car, and she hoped she wouldn’t crack and start crying. Not in front of Cassian. Not in front of anybody.

“What do we _say_?” Elain whispered.

Before Nesta could answer, Cassian and Azriel had reached the porch steps, and bounded up without invitation.

“Hey,” Cassian said. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Nesta said. “Everything’s fine.” Cassian narrowed his eyes, but she jerked her chin at the folder in his hand. “Is that the report?”

Cassian passed it on wordlessly, then fixed his gaze on Elain and Feyre. He noticed how they squirmed, eyes shifting to each other. “And you?”

“We’re fine,” Feyre chirped a little too brightly.

“I’ll grab your jacket, and you can be on your way,” Nesta murmured, sliding the report to Feyre. “I’ll be right-”

“I’ll come with you,” Cassian said, before she could disappear into the house. He opened the door and gestured for her to go first.

On the way there, he and Azriel had discussed in the car how to handle the Archeron sisters. And he needed to talk to Nesta, the need was burning in his gut, unlike anything else.

“Fine,” Nesta said. _Fuck._ She looked at her sisters before disappearing inside with the sheriff.

Azriel tipped his head to the sisters. “Not getting into that.”

Feyre snorted, and Elain smiled. Yeah, she’d really missed Azriel.

“Feyre says you’re still coming to our Samhain celebration,” Elain found herself saying. “I’m really glad.”

Azriel smiled slightly. “I keep hearing about naked moonlight dancing. Habit of yours?”

“Only on the Summer Solstice,” Elain shot back, head tilted playfully. “Too cold this time of year. Come back in June”

“I’ll mark my calendar.”

She laughed and suppressed a shiver. Was Azriel _flirting_ with her? Or was he just teasing?

“So where’s the bonfire?” Azriel asked. “Out back?”

“Yes,” Feyre said. “With a big firepit and everything.”

“I hope that’s up to code.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “The aunts never cared much about code.”

Azriel nodded glancing around at the woods surrounding them. “You’re isolated for sure.” When he looked back at them, his face was softened with concern. “I know Cassian offered and it pissed your sister off, but we don’t mind doing patrols up here at night, if it would make you feel safer.”

“We can handle ourselves,” Feyre said, and Elain remembered the belladonna in her basket, in the house. _We certainly can._ “But that may not be a bad idea.”

“Feyre-” Elain started, but Feyre cut her off.

“Vanserra cornered Elain this morning, in the woods,” she said, and Azriel’s eyes snapped to Elain. He took in her windblown hair, weary expression. Elain resisted the urge to poke Feyre in the ribs. _Troublemaker._

“Today?” Azriel asked, voice deadly serious. “What happened?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Elain said, and she knew Azriel didn’t believe her. “He, ah. Said he was hiking.”

“The only hiking trails are further down,” Azriel noted. “And this is private property. I could arrest him for trespassing, if you want.”

Elain snorted. “I have a feeling he’d get out of it. He just surprised me, really. I was, ah, picking flowers.”

“He snuck up on you,” Feyre said. “He scared the shit out of you.”

“He was asking-” Elain stopped. Feyre bugged her eyes out, and she bugged hers back, as if to say w _hat am I supposed to say, he’s asking some dangerously accurate questions?_

“What was he asking?” Azriel jumped in. “Did he threaten you, Elain?”

“No,” she said. “Not in so many words. He told me about the autopsy, if I knew anything about it.”

“You?” Azriel quirked an eyebrow, and Elain nearly kicked herself. “Why would he ask you about it? You hadn’t seen it yet.”

“No,” she started, but Feyre, understanding the hole they’d dug themselves into, jumped in.

“He asked you about Tamlin, right? If I knew anything?” Feyre said. “About how he died.”

Azriel lifted his hand. “Wait. _Do_ you know how he died? Did Vanserra tell you?”

“Yes,” Elain said. “Poison. Belladonna.”

“And why would you know about that?”

Eain sighed. “I have a degree in plant biology. He was asking my advice.”

“ _You?_ The sister of one of the suspects?” Azriel shook his head. “I don’t know what he’s playing at, but I don’t like it.”

 _I do_. “It’s fine,” Elain said. “It’s over.”

“It’s trespassing at best,” Azriel said. “Not to mention he’s been mishandling this case _and_ harassing you.”

“Yes!” Feyre cried. “We have _no_ idea how to stop it.”

Azriel rested his hands on his hips, and stared just past Elain’s head, muscles in his jaw ticking. “Cassian and I are on it.” He smiled, slightly. “If Nesta doesn’t chew him up too badly. You have any idea what happened?”

Elain and Feyre shrugged.

“And Rhys, he’s been walking around jumping at shadows,” Azriel turned to Feyre. “Has he seemed off to you?”

“Nope,” Feyre said. “Everything seems fine to me.”

Azriel watched the two Archeron sisters. Even without Cassian’s superpower, he had a feeling there was something they were hiding. But then again, it seemed like they always were.

And Elain… when she looked at him, he saw an open face and a million secrets.

Cassian followed Nesta upstairs, noting the strange and dated decor of the house.

“Get company much?” He asked, passing a terrifying cornhusk mask mounted to the wall, along with branches woven into strange shapes. Heavy drapes, tapestries.

“The aunts didn’t like it,” Nesta said. She’d told him to stay at the foot of the stairs, but he followed her up, like a poorly trained golden retriever.

She hesitated at her bedroom door, half-wondering about the amount of dirty laundry she’d left lying around, and then shaking herself for even caring what Cassian thought of her room. _Be normal,_ she thought, turning the knob. _Get the jacket and get out._

Having Cassian in her room felt strangely intimate. This was the first time she’d had a man in her childhood bedroom, and she felt naked, nervous. She’d never brought Tomas to the house, in an effort to keep her lives separate.

But then, it turns out there really was nothing separate about it.

“Nice room,” Cassian said, taking in the faded purple walls, the swaths of heavy drapes at the windows, pulled back so light could spill in. The small altar of candles and photographs and dried flowers in the corner. Her bookshelf, stuffed to bursting with books of all kinds. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a purple girl.”

“The hell does that mean?” She asked brusquely, tugging the jacket from where she’d laid it on her desk chair, and winced. “I mean… what did you expect?”

“Black walls and no furniture,” Cassian said, and she heard the attempt at the joke. “You strike me as a very… minimalist person.”

“Here’s your jacket,” she shoved it at him, because she didn’t know what else to say. _Can he tell I don’t know how to fix this? Can he tell that I want to, so badly?_

“Thanks.” Cassian reached for it, and tugged on it, before she could pull away. “About the other night.”

“It’s fine-”

“Nesta,” Cassian said. “It’s not. I upset you, and I’m sorry.”

Of all the things men had ever said to Nesta, she’d never received an apology.

“Oh,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t mean to pry, and it wasn’t fair to ambush you with those questions,” he said. “I had no idea they would be so…”

“Painful?” Nesta said. “Yeah.”

She tried to avoid Cassian’s gaze and let go of the jacket, the warm, sturdy jacket that smelled like him. _I wish I could keep it,_ she thought. _Stupid girl._ But when she did look at him, his eyes were so familiar she hated herself for what she said next.

“I tried to set Tomas Mandray on fire,” she said. “Because he tried to-” she couldn’t say it, not to Cassian. Saying it aloud meant it was real. “He tried…”

Cassian read into the silence. His face went hard, and his voice was deadly calm. “That bastard.”

“I lit him on fire before he could get his hand up my skirt, but damn it, he wanted to,” Nesta said. “And I’m not sorry about it.”

“Good,” Cassian said. “He was an animal.”

Nesta almost snorted.

“Where is he now?” Cassian asked. “Because I swear to God, if you want-”

“He died two weeks later,” Nesta said. _Maybe because he loved me, or maybe because he was stupid. Or both._ “Car accident.”

“Good,” Cassian said again, softer. “Nesta, I’m so sorry.”

She sighed. She wondered what it would feel like to step forward, into him, like she was a normal girl and this was normal life.

“Can I-” he asked, but he was already reaching for her, his arms already around her. She stiffened; normal or no, she didn’t do hugs. Never. Rarely for her sisters.

But for a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself pretend again, what it would feel like if things were different, to be wrapped in somebody’s arms and soak in the comfort.

“Everytime I see you,” Cassian said into her hair. “You and your sisters always look like you’re in the middle of a crisis.”

Nesta couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, because it was true, and he had no fucking idea about most of it. “It’s just a normal day for us.” She pulled away. _Murder. Missing aunts. Lucien. Ghosts, banishing spells._ Goddess, it was too much.

But when she pulled away, her face was inches from his. Fiery eyes, always those Goddess-damned fiery eyes. She hated herself for thinking about them, all the time. And her heart heavy in her chest, the weight once a strange burden, now comforting. Unbreakable. Reminding her not to give in to weakness.

“Let me help you,” Cassian said, and their faces drew nearer. “Let me-”

Then his lips collided with Nesta’s, so different from Tomas’s. Gentler. Warmer. There was nothing cold or greedy about them. Her heart ached, and she ignored it.

For a moment, she glimpsed a snippet of another, pretend life. Another girl without a broken heart or a curse, without crazy aunts or blood on her hands, in lo-

She shoved the word down, into her stone heart, and focused on the heat of Cassian’s body against hers. His hands at her waist, her back, sliding into her hair.

 _Just one moment of weakness,_ she thought. _Then no more._

Her hands went around his neck and she leaned into him, eyes firmly shut. She savored the feeling of his lips against hers, wanting more. Drawing closer, feeling his skin on hers, without any barriers between them until-

“Nesta,” Cassian groaned against her mouth, and she broke away, stepping back. Her lips tingled and then the fear came. It rushed over her like a river, relentless. _Reality_ , it whispered, _is cold and lonely and this is what is meant for you._

“This can’t happen again,” she said. “I-” She broke off, refusing to look at him, to acknowledge the confusion and - was that _hurt_? - in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Cassian.”

She fled downstairs before she could throw herself at him again, eyes stinging, heart pounding, palms tingling and hot. She felt like witchfyre was threatening to pour from her throat, her hands, her eyes.

 _What have I done? Stupid, stupid,_ she thought.

_Not for me. Never for me._

Cassian stared at the empty doorway, listening to Nesta’s footsteps thunder down the stairs.

 _What the hell just happened?_ He thought.

He wasn’t sure. One moment, he was looking at Nesta, seeing the sad girl underneath the armor. The brilliant, vibrant Nesta he kept seeing. And then, his arms around her waist, their mouths moving together. Consuming. Hungry.

Time had stood still. Something in him, called by her, had sparked to life, and he felt like there was fire in his blood.

And now… she was angry, downstairs, never to speak to him again.

 _Fuck._ He’d fucked it up, again. _There’s something about her,_ he thought, as he descended the stairs. It was as if something in Nesta drew him in, the way sailors were enchanted by a siren’s call.

And he’d smashed himself on the rocks, already.

To his surprise, he found Azriel in the kitchen with Feyre and Elain, the latter eyeing Nesta with suspicion as she stood in front of the counter strewn with bottles and jars and other mysterious things, her back to them.

Azriel flicked his eyes between Nesta and Cassian, as if to say _what the actual fuck did you do?_

Cassian winced, and Azriel rolled his eyes.

“Well, we’d be happy to send you home with some nettle tea,” Elain was saying, digging in her basket of herbs. “I have just the thing. Trust me, you’ll _love_ it.”

Azriel looked like he wanted to disagree, but when Elain smiled at him, he softened.

Cassian shot him a glare, which Azriel returned, again glancing at Nesta.

“Do you gather herbs often?” Cassian asked, and cleared his throat when his voice came out scratchy. He glanced at her basket, the bundles of green and orange and other vibrant colors. They all looked so similar. How did Elain know so much about plants?

“She was out back this morning,” Feyre said.

“Vanserra cornered her there,” Azriel said. “I told her we’d take care of it.”

Instantly, Cassian shoved aside all thoughts of Nesta. “What?”

“This morning,” Elain said. “He surprised me. Told me about the toxicology report.” She gestured to Azriel. “He said you could do something about this?” Cassian saw Nesta’s spine straighten, tense. Feyre and Elain too, uneasy.

Nesta had grabbed the report and was poring over it. She fought to keep her face straight. Belladonna in the blood, the stomach. Cause of death: poison. Scratches at throat, face suggested murder. Post-mortem burial suggested premeditated.

They were screwed. 

“Absolutely,” Cassian was saying. “I can’t believe that asshole would have the balls to show up here, on your property.”

“Believe it,” Nesta snapped. “And do something about it.”

Angry Nesta. Now this was a Nesta Cassian knew how to handle.

Azriel stooped to pick up a bottle that had rolled across the kitchen. _Onna_ , he glimpsed, before Elain reached for his hand. He froze when her fingers touched his wrist.

“I’ll take that, thanks,” she palmed the bottle out of his grasp and shoved it into her pocket.

Cassian watched Azriel’s expression flicker as Elain let go of his hand. And then he realized he’d seen the bottle before.

He remembered knocking it over and Nesta jumping to wipe it up. And he remembered the bottle Elain had dropped that morning outside the store, when she’d fainted. Ordinary looking, like all the others, simple glass with a cork stopper. FIlled with a dark brown powder.

And he remembered reading the label after spilling it, right before Nesta had practically snatched it out of his hands. _Belladonna._

Disbelief warred with certainty in his gut. Nesta’s panicked expression that day, Elain’s eagerness to pocket it now. _It can’t be._

“We have to go,” Cassian said, jerking his head at Azriel, who’d noted the subtle changes in his body language, the newfound tension. “Thanks for my jacket.” He tried to ignore Nesta’s thunderous expression, and the immense sadness in her eyes.

 _I’m sorry,_ she’d said. And that had hit him in the chest, a blow he didn’t know had hurt as much as it did until he saw it in her own face.

Azriel nodded to Elain and Feyre.

“What about your tea?” Elain asked.

“Maybe some other time,” Azriel said. “And don’t worry about Vanserra. We’ll take care of it.”

“Absolutely,” Cassian said. “Call us in the meantime if he comes back.”

Before the sisters could answer, he practically dragged Azriel down the hallway and out the door.

He needed to study the autopsy report, and Rose’s file again. He had a sudden, terrible thought.

He hoped to death he was wrong.

***

“Did you tell her?” Ianthe asked Lucien.

“Yes,” Lucien said. “They’re terrified.”

“Good, it means they’ll get sloppy,” Ianthe said. “And sloppy means vulnerable.” Lucien watched her reflection. This beautiful woman, who’d tricked him into loving her. He hated her for it, for the fear in Elain’s eyes, and in her sisters’. Hated himself for having to cause it.

The day Ianthe had put her spell on Lucien was the last day he’d ever done anything for himself. And that was the day he learned truly how monstrous Tamlin had been to Feyre.

“Keep spying on them,” she continued. “Track their every move and report to me. Rattle them. I want them sleepless. I’ll be there soon.” Ianthe finished. “And I’m bringing a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes,” Ianthe grinned. “I have a feeling you’ve missed him almost as much as I have.”

  
  



	11. You Take the Cards That You're Dealt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter really kicked my ass to write and I have no idea why. I never know what's going to happen each chapter until I finish them; I'm winging it, every single damn time. So here's to stuff happening at a moments notice because my goblin brain won't give me a consecutive plot. I hope you enjoy! (This is just me covering my ass if you guys end up hating the ending of this because there wasn't enough context in the earlier chapters haha). 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Bible Belt, Dry the River  
> -Hallelujah, Haim  
> -Gypsy, Fleetwood Mac  
> -Wish That You Were Here, Florence + the Machine  
> -Go to Heaven, The Pierces

_You were alone and steady with wintry calm  
Somewhere inside the fire of your youth went dark...  
And you say 'my love, you take the cards that you're dealt'  
And when it's dark outside, you light the fire yourself...  
'Cause we've been through worse than this before we could talk  
Oh, the trick of it is, don't be afraid anymore_

_-Bible Belt, Dry the River_

_And I never minded being on my own  
Then something broke in me and I wanted to go home  
To be where you are  
But even closer to you, you seem so very far_

_-Wish That You Were Here, Florence + The Machine_

_Hey, come on, and take off all the clothes that you have on  
and make love to me until the sun  
Comes up or until we decide we are done  
_

_-Go to Heaven, The Pierces_

Azriel and Cassian stared at the autopsy report, Rose’s file, and the Archeon sisters’ files.

“You’re kidding,” said Azriel.

“I wish I was,” said Cassian.

Azriel bent to the autopsy and read aloud, “lacerations on face, damage to throat, ribs, ultimate cause of death… poison, asphyxiation, and postmortem burial.” He glanced at Cassian. “Tell me you don’t believe this. The  _ Archeron _ sisters? Feyre? Nesta?  _ Elain? _ ”

Feyre’s easy grin flashed through his mind. Nesta’s scowl, but a hit of softness in her eyes when she looked at her sisters. And Elain’s sweet doe brown eyes.

And now, staring at the autopsy report, he could see Cassian struggling with the same thing.

“They’re not murderers,” Azriel said. “Those three couldn’t do this much damage.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cassian said slowly. He tossed Nesta’s file at him. “I don’t like this either. But you can’t deny - in court, Nesta’s past would hold up as a reasonable threat.”

“But Elain, Feyre-”

Cassian shook his head. “One man versus three tenacious women? Convincing odds. And why else would they have the belladonna? Elain knows how to use it. Feyre has a motive. Damn!” He threw himself into his chair, rubbing his face. “None of this adds up.”

Azriel crossed his arms, working his jaw. “What’s your gut telling you?”

“That I’m right,” Cassian said. “Nesta nearly ripped the bottle out of my hands when I knocked it over the other day. They never give you a straight answer on  _ anything _ . Fuck,” he muttered. “This can’t really be the whole story, can it?”

“Do you think Vanserra has the same idea?” Azriel asked. “He’s been sniffing around them since day one. It’s almost like he’s waiting for them to slip up.”

“He knows something,” Cassian said. “And so do they.”

“Why would they go for  _ belladonna _ of all things?” Azriel said. “No knife wounds, no gunshot wounds. They didn’t try to strangle him. No blunt force trauma.”

“Almost like they weren’t  _ trying _ to kill him,” Cassian said. “Do you think this… was an accident?”

“The body was buried twenty miles from the scene,” Azriel read from the report. “And suspiciously well.”

“Damn,” Cassian said. It didn’t add up. His gut had always felt the truth from the sisters. Never lies. But some pretty big unanswered questions. “We have to talk to them.”

“Bring them in for questioning?” Azriel asked. “We have the evidence.”

“Not officially,” Cassian said. “Not until I get the whole story. And not until we know what Vanserra’s up to. But unofficially...”

Azriel sighed. “I hate to do this.”

“Me too.”

“So, do we bring them in at once?” 

Cassian shook his head. “That would spook them. I don’t want them to think we know anything.”

Azriel looked at Cassian, saw the crafty look in his eye. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking I need to go talk to Nesta Archeron,” Cassian said. “And finally get some answers.”

Azriel silently agreed, the middle Archeron sister on his mind. And the youngest... “And Feyre? Should we get Rhys to do some amatuer detective work for us?”

“No,” Cassian said. “This stays between us for now. Rhys acts so weird around Feyre… I’m worried he’d blow it.”

“Fine,” Azriel said. “Act normal, until, when? Until Vanserra hones in?”

“We’ll give them til after their Sowheen or whatever,” Cassian said. “Then we move in. If we need to.”

“Samhain.”

“Whatever,” Cassian muttered. “What is that? French?”

Azriel stared at his brother. “Not even close.”

“What the fuck ever,” Cassian muttered again, and slumped back in his chair, preoccupied with thoughts of interrogating Nesta Archeron without actually interrogating her. And that kiss....

He wasn’t going to get any more work done that day, not after that kiss. He’d be thinking about her lips, the small gasps she made when he pulled her closer, the softness of her skin...

“Cassian,” Azriel called. “You copy?”

Cassain shook himself. “What did you say?”

“What happened with you and Nesta?”

“Nothing,” Cassian said, as if to convince himself along with Azriel. “Nothing happened at all.”

***

“What’s gotten into you?” Elain asked Nesta once the sheriff and deputy had left. “What did you do to Cassian?”

“ _ Me _ ?” Nesta asked. “That- that-  _ ugh! _ ” She slammed her hands on the counter, and the candle resting beside the cauldron let out a puff of smoke. Feyre and Elain looked at each other, eyes wide. “ _ Nothing _ , alright? We. Did.  _ Nothing. _ ”

Elain stared, then tilted her head, and her eyes glowed softly. She inhaled sharply. “You didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?” Asked Feyre.

“She kissed the sheriff,” Elain said, eyes fading back to normal. “Sounds like she can’t complain about you and Rhys.”

“What the hell do you mean?” Feyre asked right as Nesta shrieked, “it was  _ nothing! _ ”

Her sisters stared at her.

“What?” Nesta snapped. “It’s not like you weren’t  _ shoving _ me at him every time he came around. Don’t even start with me right now. We’re in crisis mode, in case you haven’t noticed.” She waved a hand at the back door. “And they just left in a hurry. They know something. I can feel it.”

“They don’t know  _ anything _ ,” Feyre said. “They  _ can’t _ . We’ve been so careful!”

“This autopsy is the nail in the coffin,” Nesta said. “All they have to do is search this house, this fucking  _ yard. _ If they find belladonna here, we’re screwed. Game over. Prison time.” She dragged her hands down her face.

Elain watched Feyre’s face crumple, and sat down next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “If it’s not the sheriff, it’ll be Vanserra.”

Feyre’s voice was practically a whisper. “What do we do? Run?”

“Where to?” Nesta said. “It’ll be as good as a confession.”

“No,” Feyre whispered, pressing her palms into her eyes. “This nightmare was supposed to be over when he was dead and banished.”

“Since when have Archeron women ever been so lucky?” Nesta asked dryly, but Elain could hear the edge of tears in her voice.

The sisters sat around the table in silence. Feyre rubbed at her eyes, while Nesta stared at her hands, palms flat on the table. Elain took in the room, her beloved childhood kitchen.

“Let’s look for the aunts, one more time,” Elain said. “And if we can’t… we run.”

“No,” Nesta said. “You’re innocent.” She looked at Feyre. “That bastard didn’t steal five years from you just so you could spend the rest of them on the run.” She turned to Elain. “And I didn’t uproot you and drag you to New York City just to make you unable to put any roots down ever again.”

“What are you saying?” Feyre asked.

“If we can’t find the aunts by Samhain,” Nesta said. “I’m going to confess. I was the one who technically killed Tamlin. You were just… there.”

“We held him down,” Elain said. “I think they call that ‘acessory to murder’.”

Nesta shook her head. “You weren’t there. You were helping Feyre to the car while I forced Tamlin to swallow the whole bottle.”

“Nesta-”

“You need to believe it,” Nesta said. “The lie. You need to believe it like it happened.”

“Nesta, don’t do this,” Feyre said. “Not for me. Tamlin was  _ my _ problem.”

“The Archeron Curse was the problem,” Nesta said. “And I’ll die before I let you suffer for something as trivial as his death.”

“You mean his _murder_ , which _we_ _committed_ ,” Feyre said. “I’m not weak. I’m not going to let you clean up my mess. You’ve done enough already.”

“Feyre,” Nesta snapped. “Let me do this. For you both. You deserve a  _ life _ , and me,” she stopped to take a breath.  _ Don’t cry, don’t cry _ . Cassian’s face, filled with pain, danced through her mind. Tomas’s face, screwed up with rage. Her father’s face, filled with disdain and despair. “I’m… it doesn’t matter what I deserve.”

“Over my dead body,” Feyre hissed. “We’re all finally back together, and you’re going to  _ leave _ ? If one of us is going to jail, it’ll be me.”

“He trapped you!” Nesta exploded. “I’m not letting him be the reason you’re trapped somewhere else. You’ve always needed freedom, Feyre. Not me. I can live without it.”

“Guys,” Elain said, but Feyre cut her off.

“You can’t decide to go all self-sacrificing, not after pushing us this hard to stay out of trouble!” Feyre snapped. “This is  _ my _ responsibility.”

“Guys-”

“Feyre, you don’t know  _ what _ you want,” Nesta snapped, and Feyre lunged out of her chair.

“How  _ dare _ you-”

“ _ Hey! _ ” Elain called, slamming the grimoire on the table, overturning a mug and rattling several unwashed dishes. Vine unfurled from the spider plant sitting on the windowsill, tendrils wrapping around her sisters’ ankles and wrists. Nesta and Feyre turned.

“Excuse me,” she said. “But i’m the other part of his equation, and I think I get a say, since the investigator has been following  _ me _ since he got here.” She sat, watching Feyre and Nesta gingerly unwind the plants’ tendrils from their limbs. “Now. I know we really,  _ really _ try not to fuck with mortals, but I think this is a special case.” She began flipping through the heavy tome. “Before  _ anyone _ goes to prison,” she glared at her sisters. “We’re going to cast some spells.”

“On who?” Feyre asked.

“Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, and fuck it, anyone who even looks at us funny for the next year,” Elain said. “That means Rhys too.”

“Absolutely not,” Feyre said. “I promised Rhys we wouldn’t mess with his free will.”

“Did you bloodbind promise him?” Elain asked idly, turning pages. “Feyre, he won’t even know it.”

“What kind of spell?” Nesta asked. “To make them all casually forget Tamlin exists? To make them forget  _ we _ exist?”

“I’d really prefer just the first,” Elain admitted, thinking of Azriel’s warm gaze on her face.  _ No, let’s try to keep these memories as intact as possible. _ “But no, I was thinking we conveniently come up with an explanation for Tamlin’s death that doesn’t even involve us.”

“What, change his manner of death?” Feyre snorted. “Too little too late.”

“No, only make them  _ think _ the manner of death has changed,” Elain said. “And fine, if we have to fuck with some paperwork, well, what’s fraud on top of murder?”

Nesta pursed her lips. “You sure we can’t just make them forget about us entirely?” Both Feyre and Elain leveled their gazes at Nesta, and she rolled her eyes. “You need to start thinking with your heads and not your-”

“Says the woman who was busy locking lips with the sheriff himself not half an hour ago,” Elain shot back. “Pot, meet kettle and cauldron,” she gestured to herself and Feyre.

“Goddess,” Nesta muttered. “This is such a clusterfuck of epic proportions.”

“One day at a time,” Elain said. “One  _ problem  _ at a time.”

“Then where do we start?” Feyre asked. “What spell are you even suggesting?”

Elain passed the grimoire to Feyre. “That’s it, a suggestion glamour. Essentially, give them a nudge in a different direction.”

“Towards?” Nesta asked.

“Towards a different cause of death entirely,” Elain shrugged. “Car accident, gunshot wound, whatever. If we go with the gunshot, they  _ definitely _ couldn’t trace that back to us, not without a gun.”

“It would have to be powerful,” Nesta said. “Especially if people take a closer look at the body.”

“Well,” Elain said. “Not if it’s the ‘wrong’ body.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up. “Forget rewriting the autopsy, just start over with a new body?”

“New identity,” Elain said, flipping again through the grimoire. “A strong suggestion glamour, long enough for them to close the case and bury Tamlin entirely.”

Feyre blew out a breath. “That doesn’t change the whole belladonna fiasco.”

Elain shrugged. “Fine, we do a forget-me-not charm or a woolgathering tisane or something, just enough to make them forget about the belladonna.” When Feyre made a face, Elain glared. “I know you told Rhys you’d leave it alone. But he’s a loose end, and a small charm won’t hurt him.”

Feyre sighed, and looked away, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I don’t like lying to him.”

“Oh my Goddess,” Nesta snapped. “A second ago you were raring to turn yourself in. Shit, or get off the pot, Feyre.”

“I like him, okay!” Feyre snapped. “I like Rhys a  _ lot _ , and I don’t want to hurt him!”

“It won’t hurt him, he won’t even know!”

“But  _ I _ will!”

Nesta rolled her eyes, peering around Elain’s shoulder at the grimoire. “It’s literally a little hex, it’ll addle some memories, nothing major. With luck, he’ll even forget you dreamwalking into his bed.”

“But,” Feyre trailed off. “I like not having to hide that from him. It feels good to finally  _ be _ myself around someone else.”

“He hasn’t seen you since that morning,” Nesta said. “He’s still acting weird about it.”

“He was starting to come around,” Feyre argued. “We’re  _ friends! _ He was just… shocked.”

“Well, now he won’t be, and we can move on,” Nesta said.

“I thought you said this wouldn’t affect his memory  _ that _ much,” Feyre retorted. When she looked at the spell Elain was examining, she groaned. “And the Unraveling Threads charm? That could make him forget his own name!”

“Fine, we’ll tailor a spell,” Nesta said through gritted teeth. “And if they forget us entirely? Good riddance.”

“Okay,  _ what _ is  _ wrong _ with you?” Feyre shot back. “Did Cassian  _ do _ something?”

“What the kiss bad?” Elain couldn’t resist wading in.

“No, and  _ no _ ,” Nesta snapped. “It was…” she trailed off, eyes hazy, before refocusing. “It meant nothing, and it was a mistake. I told him as much, and he left. So he clearly agrees with me. Maybe we would be better off if they forgot everything.”

Feyre rolled her eyes angrily, and turned to Elain. “What do  _ you _ think?”

“Me?”

“Yes, miss,  _ ‘oh Azriel, what about your tea? Also I love you,’ _ ” Feyre shot back. “Are you prepared to wipe their memories,  _ Azriel’s _ memories, if this goes wrong?”

Elain sighed, and Feyre watched her cheeks darken. “That’s… beside the point.”

“So the point!” Feyre snapped. “We’re violating a code of conduct. The aunts always said, ‘do what ye will, but harm none’!”

“The aunts didn’t extend  _ me _ that same courtesy,” Nesta cut in. “Feyre, we do this or we go to jail.”

Feyre exhaled, agitated. “Goddess.”

“We have to do this, Feyre,” Elain said. “The other alternative is either you or Nesta in prison. Or all of us. We’ll write a spell and cast it on Samhain, when they’re here.”

Feyre looked away, staring out the bay windows towards the backyard, the wood stacked and ready for the bonfire. “Fine.” 

“Feyre,” Nesta said gently. “This is for the best.”

Feyre pursed her lips and pushed away from the table. “I’m going to see Rhys.”

“Feyre,” Nesta said, but Elain shook her head.

They watched Feyre shimmer and disappear.

“Seriously, do you want to talk about Cassian?” Elain asked.

“Do you want to talk about Azriel?” Nesta shot back.

Elain sighed, and when she didn’t answer, Nesta quirked an eyebrow. “Didn’t think so,” and took the grimoire from the table. “I’m going to start working on the spell.”

Elain watched her go, all the while thinking about Azriel, and just how much she was willing to let him forget.

***

When Feyre winnowed into Velaris, she was relieved to find it empty. Chairs stacked on tables, door locked.

She slumped against the bar, staring around the room, and remembering the night she first walked in, broken and scared. And the gentle violet eyes of the stranger behind the bar, who made her feel safe even when she didn’t think it possible.

They hadn’t spoken since his promise to keep her secret, and she had been surprised at how much she missed him. His laugh, his jokes. His smiles, which she liked to pretend were just for her.

_ Could I give this all up? _ She wondered.  _ Would I? Is there even anything to  _ give _ up? _

She’d dreamt again of Rhys, but hadn’t walked into his dreams. Which meant either he wasn’t dreaming of her, or he wasn’t dreaming at all.

And she couldn’t ignore how good it felt to wake up beside somebody; to feel a warm body pressed against hers. To sleep and wake with the knowledge that she was not alone. That she was safe.

A whistled tune shook her out of her reverie, and she turned to see Rhys walk in from the back, carrying a case of beer. He nearly dropped it when he saw her.

“Feyre!” He yelped, jerking back. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “My, um, way.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ ,” he said, setting the case of beer on the bar. “How does that work, exactly?”

Feyre shrugged. “I just picture a place, and then… I’m here,” she splayed her hands in a  _ ta-da _ gesture. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Rhys said, studying Feyre. “I haven’t heard from you in a few days.”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to,” she said softly. “If you’re still… put off by everything.”

“I miss you,” he said, surprising them both. “I mean, I’m still weirded out. But,” he placed his elbows on the bar and leaned in.  _ In for a penny, in for a pound _ , he thought to himself. “I missed you more.”

Feyre’s smile was more than worth it. “I missed you too.” She fought back a blush, fought back finishing,  _ I miss waking up to you, even if it was just once. _

“So,” Rhys said, a tad awkwardly. “How have you been?”

“You know,” Feyre waved a hand.  _ Terrible. _ “Fine. Getting stuff ready for this weekend.”

“Right, your Halloween bonfire.”

“Samhain,” Feyre snorted when Rhys crossed his arms in mock irritation.

“That doesn’t even sound like a real word. How do I know you didn’t make it up just to fuck with me?”

“You got me,” Feyre said. “I just really enjoy making you sound like an idiot when you try to pronounce it.”

“I knew it,” Rhys said. “Are we uninvited if we can’t say it right?”

“Nesta would definitely say yes.” Feyre thought about warning him. About apologizing for the spell and breaking her promise of preserving his free will. About the Archeron curse, and the trouble that always came with it.

“In that case, we’ll be there  _ just _ to say it wrong,” Rhys said, unaware of the heavy guilt that dampened the warmth Feyre felt at finally being able to joke with him again.

She shook herself. Rhys would be fine. He’d  _ have _ to be. “You better be there; but keep Cassian on a leash. He pissed her off this morning, or she pissed him off. I’m not really sure what happened.”

Rhys raised an eyebrow and came around the bar to sit next to her, snagging two beers from the case. “I love drama, especially Cassian’s drama.”

Feyre laughed. “Is he usually dramatic?”

“You should have seen him the last time he had to get a haircut,” Rhys said. “It was a half-inch shorter than normal, and you would have thought they’d shaved his head.” 

Feyre laughed, and even after everything, the sleepless nights Rhys spent trying to reconcile what he’d seen, of fearing he’d see her in his dreams, of fearing he  _ wouldn’t _ see her in his dreams, Feyre’s laugh still pulled him in.

“Well,” she said. “Elain and I may have caused some of this. We made him take her on a motorcycle ride, and she came back nearly in tears. Then, he and Azriel showed up at our house this morning.”

“Why were they at your house?” Rhys asked. “Police business? Is this about that investigator who’s been bothering you?”

“Yes,” Feyre said. “He showed up and scared the shit out of Elain, in our backyard. And Cassian had some, uh, information for us. And he and Nesta disappeared and when they came back, he looked upset, and well, Nesta always looks vaguely upset, but this time she looked  _ really _ upset.”

“Did they fight?” Rhys asked.

Feyre leaned in for dramatic effect. “They  _ kissed _ .”

“I knew it!” Rhys threw up a fist. “I told Cassian he was playing with fire.”

_ If only you knew, _ Feyre thought. “She seemed pretty ready to kick him out of the house. And he seemed pretty ready to go.”

“So they  _ did _ argue,” Rhys said. “What about?”

“Knowing Nesta?” Feyre shook her head. “It could be anything.”

“And knowing Cassian,” Rhys said, “he definitely started it.”

They laughed, clinked their beer bottles, and drank.

“You still have to get him to come this weekend,” Feyre said. She wondered what Cassian had told Rhys, about the case, about her sisters. “It’s important. To us, I mean. Even if he and Nesta are fighting.”

“Are you kidding?” Rhys said. “I’m not missing  _ any _ opportunity to watch Nesta rip Cassian apart. It’s good for his ego.”

“I think it’s good for hers too.”

Rhys laughed, and Feyre wished she could tell him. About everything, Tamlin, the curse, the spells.  _ It would be so easy, _ she thought.  _ We could just erase it, when the time came. _

But she couldn’t do that, not when Rhys was here, teasing her, laughing with her.

She suddenly realized she hadn’t kissed anyone since Tamlin, not with the murder and the running for their lives, and the hiding out. Not with Lucien and coming back home and avoiding the Knight brothers in order to protect their secrets.

Not with the curse running rampant.  _ Nesta’s superstition’s rubbed off on me _ , Feyre thought ruefully.

Still, she missed feeling another body against hers. She missed the dreams, the warmth and taste of Rhys’s skin (theoretically).

_ This, _ she reminded herself,  _ is what got us here in the first place. _

Rhys would never be Tamlin. But she didn’t know if she could take that chance, or any chance at all.

Still, she closed her eyes and pretended they did this every day. Drank beer, laughed. Pretended they’d woken up together, spent the morning tangled in each other.

When she opened her eyes, Rhys was staring at her.

“You okay?”

Feyre nodded and tried to compose her face.

“You know,” Rhys said. “You can still talk to me. Even if it’s… not normal.”

_ I wish _ . “Thanks,” Feyre said. Despite her better judgement, she leaned in and rested a hand on top of his, splayed on the bar. “I appreciate you not being… angry with me. In the middle of everything.”

“Never at you,” Rhys said softly. “I could never be angry with you.”

He flipped his hand up to twine his finger with Feyre’s. She meant to lean her head against his shoulder, but when she got closer, Rhys had tilted his face to hers. Feyre inhaled before raising a hand to his face, and kissing him.

When their lips met, Rhys groaned. He swiveled on his stool to wedge his knees in between hers, drawing her closer. Feyre wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in.

He was a better kisser than Tamlin had ever been, and in the beginning, he’d been pretty fantastic.

But Rhys was seductive, he was gentle. But gentility faded to roughness, and Feyre gasped into his mouth when he stood, yanking her body tight against his.

This was better than the dreams, and how she’d missed them.

Unlike her dream, when she ripped herself away, Rhys was still there in front of her, eyes hooded, breathing heavy.

“Come with me,” Feyre said, and before she could change her mind, she grabbed Rhys’s hand and closed her eyes.

Winnowing with a passenger was difficult, and she hadn’t done it in years.

When they stumbled into her bedroom, Rhys sprawled across her bed, an arm over his eyes, gasping for breath.

“What the hell was that?”

“We call it winnowing,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Where are we?”

“My room,” Feyre’s voice was quiet, and tense. “If that’s okay-”

Come here,” Rhys reached for her, tugging her across his lap until she straddled him. It was strange, to see this man outside of her dreams, on top of her childhood bedspread. And then his hands were in her hair, he was pulling her face down to his.

Hands roamed and Feyre found herself shedding her clothes. She stripped Rhys of his t-shirt and ran her hands greedily down his hard body.

“I haven’t done this since…” Feyre trailed off, but Rhys knew what she meant.

“We can stop,” he said, moving his hand from her hair to cup her face. “Just promise me this isn’t a dream, or a spell or anything.” He ran his thumb along her cheek, his other hand following the curve in her spine to cup her ass. “You choose, Feyre. It’s always your choice.”

“I choose you,” she said, dipping her head to kiss him, before she lost her nerve.

He rolled on top of her and Feyre shoved aside all thoughts of Tamlin in favor of feeling Rhys’s body against hers and wrapping her legs around his waist.

She would feel guilty the next morning, when she woke in his arms, naked, and remembered Nesta’s words about the spell they planned to cast on the Knight brothers.

_ This is for the best. _

Feyre wasn’t so sure anymore.

***

Before Cassian dared approach Nesta, he needed to get a lock on Vanserra’s agenda, once and for all.

The conference room was empty, Lucien still out, wherever he was. His stuff was still strewn across the table, suitcase in the corner. A brief search of the files and things yielded no new information, about the case or about the investigator himself.

He and Azriel waited, in silence. Azriel thought about Elain, alone in the woods with Lucien, and folded his arms, glowering at the door.

“Looking a little growly there,” Cassian teased, eyebrow twitching as if he was holding back laughter. “I’m all for ripping Vanserra a new one, but you look like you mean it literally.” he leaned in. “This wouldn’t be about a particular Archeron sister?”

Azriel turned his glare on Cassian. “ _ Now _ you’re interested in talking about particular Archeron sisters?”

Cassian blinked and sighed. “Fine.”

_ It’s what friends do, _ Azriel had said to Elain after her meeting with Lucien. And he’d meant it. He  _ was _ her friend. Nothing more.

But friends didn’t flirt about dancing naked in the moonlight, did they?

Friends  _ definitely  _ didn’t  _ picture _ each other naked, dancing in the moonlight.

And it wasn’t exactly  _ friendship _ that made Azriel want to pin Lucien to the wall by the throat for harassing Elain.  _ And her sisters _ , he added as an afterthought.

Not that he’d admit any of this to Cassian or Rhys.

They were on their second cups of shitty break room coffee when Lucien blew in, another folder tucked under his arm, and a wild look in his eyes. He stopped short when he saw the sheriff and deputy, and they pinned him with their glares.

“Investigator Vanserra,” Cassian said. “It’s time you tell us what you know about the Archeron sisters.”

Lucien shook his head and unfroze. “That is confidential, I’m afraid.”

“And I’m afraid we’re getting tired of that excuse,” Cassian said. “My residents, my jurisdiction.”

“And we’ve heard an account of you on their property, uninvited,” Azriel said, standing. “Excluding the first time you showed up at the Archeron house.”  _ Much to Elain’s discomfort. _

While Lucien was strong and wiry, built for speed, Azriel’s bulk was built for power. He kept a blank face as Azriel towered over him.  _ I am not a coward, _ he thought to himself. But that hadn’t been true in the past.

“You’ve seen the autopsy report,” Lucien hedged. “They’re suspects. I’m just gathering evidence.”

“And what evidence might that be?” Cassian asked. “Shovels? Bones?”

“Poison,” Lucien said. “Elain Archeron has a thorough knowledge of plants and poisons.”

“She studied it in school,” Azriel said. “Circumstantial.”

“She knew the uses of belladonna specifically,” Lucien said, and Azriel felt his heart sink.  _ Elain wouldn’t. _ “But she failed to properly identify the flower when I asked about it. I suspect she lied to me.”

“Or you caught a woman alone in the forest,” Azriel argued. “A woman unarmed and unprepared. Hardly the best time to be on the spot.”

Lucien tilted his head at the deputy. “Why are you so hell-bent on protecting Elain Archeron?”

“The Archeron girls are our people,” Cassian cut in. “You’re not. We don’t like outsiders in these parts.”

“They haven’t been ‘people’ here for five years,” Lucien countered. “I’d bet Feyre Archeron knows just as much about plants as Elain. Or Nesta.” He smiled, and this time, it was razor sharp. Cassian’s gut tingled in warning. “Nesta’s quite the pyromaniac, isn’t she? If I recall correctly, the hotel room Tamlin and Feyre were occupying suffered quite a great deal of burn damage.”

What does that have to do with Feyre or Elain’s knowledge of poisons?” Azriel snapped.

“You tell me.”

Cassian stood too, and they brothers advanced on the investigator. “You tell  _ us _ why you’re sneaking around the sisters instead of conducting a credible investigation.”

Lucien glared, and Cassian thought he saw the investigator’s golden eye glow, move. “That’s confidential information pertaining to this investigation, which you have no clearance for.”

“If I hear about you bothering the Archeron sisters again, without any actual paperwork that grants you permission to their time or property, that’s something  _ you _ have no clearance to pursue,” Cassian said.

“If I hear about you so much as  _ looking  _ at Elain without her consent,” Azriel continued, “then there  _ will _ be a problem.”

Lucien put his hands up, grinning again at Azriel. “She agreed to have dinner with me that night,  _ deputy _ , that’s hardly interfering with the investigation  _ or _ bothering Elain.”

“Well,” Azriel said, “don’t ask her again. Consider that a message from Elain.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lucien couldn’t resist getting in one last jab at Azriel, just to see the big, silent man seethe. “But the evidence doesn’t lie. The Archerons know something about Tamlin’s death, and I  _ will _ find out what that is.”

_ Not if we get there first, _ Cassian thought. “We’ll see about that, Vanserra,” Cassian drawled, Az behind him as they pushed past him and back to their offices. “But remember. I own this town. I have eyes and ears  _ everywhere. _ ”

“So do I,” Lucien said. _ You have no idea. _

In Cassian’s office, Cassian nodded to Azriel. “Split up. Keep an eye on Elain and Feyre.”

“And Nesta?”

“I’ll handle her,” Cassian said, thinking again of their kiss, the fire in his veins. “I have a few questions of my own for her.”

***

Nesta sat in the workroom, light from the sunset spilling in through the bay windows. A candle lit, music gently playing from her phone beside her. Fleetwood Mac, one of Mor’s favorite bands. The sisters had tried again to search for them, but again, the search had yielded nothing.

She rubbed her eyes; she and Elain had spent the day poring over the grimoire and coming up with ingredients, rhymes, and other ideas for the memory spell. The Unraveling Threads charm would be too strong; the Forget-Me-Not charm or Woolgathering tisane wouldn’t be strong  _ enough _ … they needed the right words, the right intentions. What they even wanted the Knight brothers to forget in the first place. If the spell went wrong…

_ Would that be so bad? If the Archeron sisters faded completely from the Knight Brothers’ memories? Vanserra’s investigation? _

_ You’d never kiss Cassian again, _ a traitorous part of her whispered.  _ Never feel his hands on your skin, in your hair, his lips _ -

She groaned, shaking her head.  _ Get a grip _ . She’d been thinking that to herself for awhile; it didn’t change a thing.

Cassian Knight made her blood boil. She couldn’t decide if she loved or hated it.

“Goddess,” she muttered, shuffling a deck of tarot cards. Amren’s cards, Amren loved to entrance the townspeople with promised snippets of their futures. She predicted births and marriages, love affairs, illnesses, promotions, all with astounding accuracy. She charged hefty prices. Dreams, memories, bargains for later. Mor turned a blind eye. 

Elain studied the tarot, but despite her visions, the cards never spoke to her the way they spoke to Nesta. Nesta liked the ambiguity, the archetypes. The drive to look within and without.  _ As above, so below, _ Amren would whisper to her.  _ As inside the mind, so within the world. _

The cards were a familiar weight in her hand as she shuffled them back and forth. Cutting the deck, shuffling, and cutting again. She turned to the cards when her mind refused to be quiet. When she was lost in the questions and seeking answers.

“I’m so blocked I can’t hear my damn intuition,” she whispered to the deck. “So afraid. So tired. What do I need to know?”

Nesta closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the slick, worn cards falling through her fingers. She shuffled, letting the cards spill from one hand to the other, and breathed. She didn’t notice how the flame of the candle beside her danced, flared and dimmed in tandem with her breaths.

A card fell out of the deck, then another, and another, until she had four laying in front of her and she knew it was time to lay the deck aside.

_ What do I need to know? _ She flipped the first card over.

Nine of Swords.

She sighed. “Not what I wanted, but could be worse.”

The Nine of Swords, a figure bent over, face buried in their hands, while nine swords ran along the image behind them. Nesta knew what this card meant; anguish, fear, remorse. Focusing on the past. She sighed again.  _ Of course it’s focusing on the past, Goddess damn it.  _ There was so much to mourn, to regret. She couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t feel afraid.

_ Watching the stars with Cassian _ , that traitorous voice whispered again.  _ Remember how light you felt? For one moment? _

She flipped over the next card, bracing herself for something worse, and was only a little upset when it was the High Priestess, reversed.

She stared out at Nesta from the card reproachfully. Nesta almost wondered if the High Priestess was scolding her for neglecting her magic for so long. The need to withdraw in silence and reconnect. Nesta recalled the reversed Priestess often referred to sexual tension or unfulfilled desire, and blushed. She willfully shoved aside the kiss again.

When she flipped over the third card, she groaned aloud. The Devil gloated at her, two chained figures almost warning her of sharing their fate. Entrapment, bondage. Dependency. Powerlessness, hopelessness. Sexual turmoil. 

“Next,” Nesta muttered, before flipping over the last card. The Knight of Cups.

The Knight, holding a chalice, rode proudly into the distance. Nesta sneered. The Cups suit often dealt with emotions, romance. Nothing she had the time for. A proud man, chivalrous, strong. She snorted. She’d had enough of ‘chivalrous’ and ‘strong’ men in her life. She didn’t need any more to mess it up.

As she shuffled the cards back into the deck, one more fell out. The Fool. Letting go, a new beginning. Hope.

“I need to cleanse these,” Nesta muttered, and resolved to set them out in the moonlight during the next full moon.The energy must have gotten stale from lack of use.The messages didn’t make any damn sense. 

_ Or, maybe they do, and you just don’t want to listen. _

The High Priestess, lack of intuition, out of touch. Unbalanced. The Nine of Swords, fear and pain. The Devil card scared her, maybe it was a warning, or a threat. Or the cards had had enough of Nesta’s problems.

And the Knight of Cups…

“Ridiculous,” Nesta said, tucking the cards away. She thought of the true love spell she’d cast. There was no Knight, because it simply wasn’t possible. He didn’t exist.

She looked out the window, at the dimming sky with the wash of colors splashed across, and sighed. She missed her aunts, more than anything. Amren would have known what to make of the cards.

_ You need to listen _ , Amren would say.  _ The Priestess appears when you need to check in with your intuition. Trust yourself. Listen. _

Nesta hadn’t listened in years, not when her intuition had been so wrong before. Or maybe she’d never trusted it enough.

She groaned, staring at the bay windows.  _ What do I need to know? _ She’d asked. Intuition. Fear. Bondage. Love. It circled around in her head, again and again.

Her phone chimed, and she groaned aloud when she read Cassian’s name on the screen.

_ DO NOT ANSWER: Can we talk? _

_ Nesta: Nothing to talk about. _

_ DOT NOT ANSWER: Nesta. Please. It’s important. _

_ Nesta: Really not in the mood. _

_ DO NOT ANSWER: Incoming Call _

“Fuck!” Nesta swiped her thumb across the screen to answer. “What?”

“I need to talk to you.” She closed her eyes as Cassian’s voice washed over her.

“And I said there’s nothing to talk about. If this is about the kiss-”

“It’s not.” A pause. “It’s about the autopsy report.”

Nesta took measured breaths.  _ This is it. This is the end. _ “If this is official business, you’re going to have to formally bring us in for questioning, on the record.”  _ I can’t believe you’d take Vanserra’s side. _ She thought.  _ I thought you were on mine. _

“Vanserra knows something about Rose, and about you,” Cassian said. “I just,” he stopped. “Off the record. No strings attached. I need to know the truth, before he can twist it and you all go down.”

“You’re still helping us?” Nesta couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.  _ Even after- _

“Of course,” Cassian said. “I can be there in twenty, if you have time.”

“What about Feyre and Elain? Don’t you want to talk to them?”

She could hear Cassian breathing heavily on the other end, almost like he was trying to remain calm himself. “My questions are for you.” Another pause. “Fine. Maybe this is also about the kiss.”

She leaned her head on her hand, staring down at the wood grain of the workbench. “Cassian. Just forget about it. I didn’t mean it.”

Silence. “Maybe  _ I _ did,” Cassian said quietly. “But I’m not kidding - I need to hear the truth from you. Before Vanserra ruins everything.”

_ Go to him! _ Her gut screamed.  _ Stay away! _ Her mind roared. Her head, her gut, and her heart...

Nesta closed her eyes, the disapproving High Priestess burned into the back of her eyelids.

“I’ll be ready in twenty,” Nesta said, and hung up before she could change her mind.

  
  



	12. Honey, Just Put Your Sweet Lips on My Lips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is IT YALL. THE NESSIAN SMUT SCENE. I WENT HARDCORE FOR YOU. I haven’t written smut in Y E A R S. It felt good to get back on the horse. I've written like a maniac all day. Thanks for all the love and I really hope you like this chapter!
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Cruel Summer, Taylor Swift  
> -False God, Taylor Swift  
> -Warm Ways, Fleetwood Mac  
> -Talk, Hozier  
> -Common Tongue, Hozier  
> -Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene, Hozier  
> -Love Song, Lana Del Rey
> 
> Just so much Hozier.

_I will not ask you where you came from  
I will not ask you, neither should you  
Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips  
We should just kiss like real people do  
_

_-Like Real People Do, Hozier_

_I'd be the last shred of truth  
In the lost myth of true love (Hey ya)  
I'd be the sweet feeling of release  
Mankind now dreams of (Hey ya)...  
Imagine being loved by me_

_-Talk, Hozier_

_Sleep easy by my side  
Into gentle slumber you can hide  
I, I'm waiting for the sun, to come up  
I can't sleep, with your warm ways  
_

_-Warm Ways, Fleetwood Mac_

_I watch the work of my kin bold and boyful  
Toying somewhere between love and abuse  
Calling to join them the wretched and joyful  
Shaking the wings of their terrible youths...  
Feeling more human and hooked on her flesh I  
Lay my heart down with the rest at her feet  
Fresh from the fields, all fetor and fertile  
Bloody and raw, but I swear it is sweet_

_-Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene, Hozier_

Nesta was sitting on the front porch swing when Cassian pulled into the driveway. He was on his motorcycle again, and she was grateful she’d grabbed a heavier coat. The sun had gone down past the horizon; Feyre was nowhere to be found, and Elain had taken over the workroom in favor of working with herbal tinctures and charms.

Cassian tugged off his helmet, but didn’t dismount from the bike. “Hi,” he said to Nesta, and extended the other helmet. “Go for a ride with me?”

“Where?” _Not Widows Peak again… I couldn’t take it. Not now._

He shrugged. “Anywhere you want to go.”

She stood, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You want the truth. Let’s go to the station.”

“No,” Cassian said, watching as she descended the porch steps. “I meant it when I said this was off the record. We can go wherever you’re comfortable. All I ask is you’re honest with me.” He extended the helmet again. “ _Completely_ honest.”

Nesta sighed. They both knew she couldn’t fake innocence or deny it. “Fine.”

“Where to?”

She shook her head, sliding on the helmet and straddling the bike behind him. “Just drive.”

Cassian would give her that, time to gather her thoughts.

He took the long way home, wind whipping across his knuckles, tearing at his jacket. Nesta was a warm weight behind him. She’d hesitated to wrap her arms around him before he’d grabbed her wrists and gently tugged her forward. She didn’t struggle, just clutched him tight as they took off.

He decided to bring her to his house, for privacy, since Rhys was God only knew where, and Azriel was pulling the odd shift at _Velaris_ at Rhys’s sudden request.

Nesta closed her eyes and lost herself in the ride, the motion of the motorcycle, Cassian’s body. She wasn’t used to touch; never liked it much. Tomas was always a little rough when he touched her, even on good days. And he was never cuddly.

But Nesta felt she could touch Cassian, without any of the usual anxiety that touch brought her; and if he wrapped his arms around her, she felt safe. Nesta was used to not feeling very safe at all.

She opened her eyes when they coasted to a stop, and he turned off the engine. They were parked in the driveway of a small ranch house, well-kept, but nothing special. “Where are we?”

“My house,” he said, dismounting the bike. “If that’s okay. My brothers are out, and I figured you’d be more comfortable somewhere private.”

Nesta sighed, the weight of everything settling suddenly on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

He led her inside, and she was surprised to find it cleaner than she expected. The sink was full of dirty dishes, but the floors were fairly clean, and counters relatively clear.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Cassian asked Nesta, gesturing to the worn leather couch in the living room. “Feel free to sit, stand, whatever.”

“Water,” Nesta said, suddenly nervous. Aside from that morning in her bedroom, the last time she’d been alone with a man was Tomas. And that had ended with the entire house burning down.

Cassian brought her a glass and sat down next to her. She stared at her hands, trying to think about what to say.

“I have to tell you something,” Cassian said. “I have this… thing, where I know when someone is lying to me.”

Nesta jerked her head up. “You don’t trust me?”

“I do,” Cassian said. “But I can… _sense_ it when you’re not telling me something. The whole truth.”

Nesta looked at the ceiling and sighed. That sounded oddly familiar, and it pricked at the back of her neck. _He can tell when people tell lies..._

“Nesta,” Cassian said, turning his body towards her. “Will you look me in the eye? And just tell me-”

“What do you want me to say?” She cut him off. “Clearly you think I’m a murderer.”

“I don’t know what to think. I’m just looking at the evidence in front of me.” Cassian didn’t move his eyes from Nesta’s face. “I know about the belladonna. I saw it in your kitchen. And I know you and your sisters know a lot more about poisons and plants than the average woman.”

“Herbalism’s on the rise,” Nesta sniped back, but her heart wasn’t in it. 

“Nesta,” Cassian said again. _I love it when you say my name, and I hate that I love it,_ she thought. “Weird shit happens around you and your sisters. You’re hiding something.”

“Fine.” _Don’t hate me._ “I’ll tell you the truth. But it’s going to sound crazy.” She thought about the memory charm Elain was currently working on, and hoped it would be enough, in the end. Maybe she’d slip Cassian a little too much, so he’d forget her entirely.

Cassian waited expectantly.

“My sisters and I…” Nesta paused. “We’re… Wicca. So our aunts taught us everything we know about plants. Herbs, magic, stuff like that.” She hoped he would think she meant magic figuratively, not literally.

“Is that everyone says such weird stuff about you in town/” Cassian asked, and she rolled her eyes, nodding. “Rhys told us you were Wicca. And I’d heard strange accounts of your aunts in the past, but…”

Nesta shrugged. “All true, I guess. Depending if you believe in it or not. Some people did.”

“So how does this connect to Tamlin?”

Nesta looked at her hands. “Feyre and Tamlin were together for a long time. I didn’t like it. She’d left with him when we were young, and we hadn’t heard anything from her for a long time. I was angry at her for leaving, and thought she was angry as well. But now I know Tamlin had made her a prisoner in their own home.

“We heard from Feyre about a month, two months ago, that she was in trouble. Elain and I were living in New York at the time. We hadn’t been speaking to the aunts. So we dropped everything to meet Feyre out in L.A. Tamlin had been abusing her, going crazy, dragging her all over California, and she’d had enough. We were going to sneak her out and run away, but he caught us.”

“And then what happened?”

Nesta met Cassian’s eyes. “He attacked us. Viciously. He was… unhinged, like an animal. I’d never seen anything like it before. He did hit Feyre, and she did leave him, and we haven’t seen him since, that was all completely true.”

“But,” Cassian said. “That’s not all of it.”

“No,” Nesta took a deep breath. “Tamlin rushed us, in the motel, and we tackled him. He was flailing, yelling, he’d had his hand around Feyre’s throat minutes before. He was going to kill us. All of us.”

That rang true in Cassian’s gut.

“So we tackled him, and I improvised,” Nesta continued. “We travel with an… emergency kit of herbs. Just in case, for headache, pain, stuff like that. Tamlin had been drinking, so Feyre and Elain-” _held him down_ “-I mixed the entire bottle with this bottle of tequila he’d been drinking, and forced it down his throat.” Her hands shook, and she grasped them to maintain composure. “Feyre and Elain are innocent. I killed him.”

“Did you bury him by yourself?” Cassian asked, eyebrow raised.

Nesta closed her eyes and summoned her magic, just to mask the lie. “Yes.”

Cassian’s expression was inscrutable, he felt a twinge, but didn’t know where the lie was. It was so faint, he wasn’t even sure if she had lied at all.

“Don’t hate me,” Nesta said, and the weight of everything came crashing down. Her eyes pricked, and this time, she didn’t try to push the tears back. “We were so scared. We’ve _been_ so scared. And I was worried he’d try to come after us-” she broke off, and Cassian wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Cassian said. “It sounded like self-defense, at the worst.”

“We’re going to prison,” Nesta sniffled, tears flowing freely. “I’ll confess to all of it. I can’t let Feyre and Elain suffer because of him.”

“You’re not going to prison,” Cassian soothed, tucking her head into his shoulder. “Not if I can do something about it.”

“But what about Lucien-”

“Lucien won’t be a problem,” Cassian said.

“You’d still help me?” Nesta wiped her eyes. “Even after I admitted to the murder?”

“You saved yourself and your sisters from a monster,” Cassian said. “I won’t let you take the fall for that.”

Even after all of this, he’d protect her. This strong, kind man, whom she didn’t deserve, would help keep her and her sisters safe. Nesta wanted to cry harder. To be protected, finally, after years of being the protector… it was almost painful.

And she was tired of denying it, the desire that rose in her gut whenever Cassian looked at her with his fiery, smoldering eyes. And she knew she had to finish what they’d started in her bedroom. She had to face it.

She kissed him, clumsily, leaning awkwardly into his side to reach his face. But Cassian responded instantly; he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer.

Nesta forgot how good it felt to be held, to be kissed. She reveled in feeling Cassian’s hands stroking her body, grasping at her ass, her back. She rested her full weight in his lap, pressing their bodies together. Cassian, hands under her shirt, stroked the curve in her spine to her ass, smoothing his rough palms around the curves. He traced the lines of her thighs, her calves, and back up to her ass, sliding again under the hem of her t-shirt to her stomach, her breasts. She shifted and froze when she felt his cock through his jeans, hard against her inner thigh. Reality, like a cold splash of water, ripped her back into her head, and she shrank back, unsure.

“Okay?” Cassian asked, tilting his head back to look at her. His eyes, Goddess, his eyes… “Too fast?”

“No,” she murmured, running her hands over his shoulders, wishing she could touch him underneath his shirt. “Maybe.”

“We can stop,” he offered. “I’m sorry if-”

“Don’t apologize,” Nesta pressed a finger to his lips. _Don’t make me lose my nerve_.

Her magic was singing in a way she hadn’t felt in years. Something about Cassian called to her. She felt… safe. Safer than she ever had. And perhaps that frightened her more than anything. But she felt like fire was in her veins, a steady thrum settling low in her belly, and she knew she couldn’t walk away. Not now, not when Cassian looked at her with concern and desire and even a little bit of awe.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, bending to kiss him again. “Just… I’ve never…”

Recognition flashed in Cassian’s eyes. “Relax,” he said to her, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “We can go slow. You’re in charge.”

 _You’re in charge_. She didn’t know how badly she’d needed to hear it, from his mouth. And he meant it. She trusted him, to her surprise.

“Touch me,” she said, and before she lost her nerve, she pulled her shirt over her head.

Cassian cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over the soft cups of her bra. “You’re beautiful,” he said, softly. Nesta inhaled and exhaled slowly as he traced the lace edge. She shoved her panic down, away. _This is Cassian_ , she reminded herself. _I am safe._ And that settled her, more than anything.

She tugged at the edge of his shirt, and he helped her pull it off, muscles flexing. Nesta took her time touching him. She started at his face, tracing his jawline with her thumbs before stroking down his neck and smoothing across the broad expanse of his shoulders. She felt the powerful muscles ripple under her touch. His biceps were solid, forearms thick and corded. He was so different to Tomas, to any man she’d even considered dating.

Thoughts of a different life, a different girl flashed through her mind. When she closed her eyes and Cassian unclasped her bra, she pretended her life was normal. No curses, no aunts. She thought about her heart, heavy in her chest, but all of that dissipated when Cassian began kneading her breasts with his hands. She gasped at the sensations, tilting her head back. “More,” she gasped, and inhaled sharply when Cassian took one in his mouth, gently sucking at her nipple. The sensation sent jolts of lightning through her body, pooling in her core. She shifted her hips, suddenly aware of the ache between her legs. Cassian groaned when she shifted against his cock. She nearly froze again. It was all so new, so daunting. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how unsure.

Cassian sensed her pulling away, back into her head, and distracted her by running his hand down her stomach to her groin, and then lower, pressing against the seam of her jeans between her legs. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Nesta gasped as he began drawing slow circles around her clit. “Goddess, yes.” Even through her jeans, she felt the pressure, the friction, and it was delicious. Nesta tilted her head back and began rocking her hips against his hand, bracing hers on his shoulders. “That feels good,” she whispered, bending to kiss him again.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” He asked, rolling a nipple with his other hand.

“Yes,” Nesta sighed, and shrieked when he surged upwards, gathering her against his chest. Nesta clung to him, and Cassian ascended the stairs to his bedroom, Nesta cradled firmly in his arms.

His room was much like the rest of the house, not disgusting, but not tidy. In her haze, she briefly noticed a small nightlight, plugged in by the bed. _He’s afraid of the dark_ , Rhys had said to her. The phrase tickled something at the back of her mind...

She let out a shriek when he tossed her playfully onto the bed, and surprised herself when she let out a carefree, girlish giggle as he dove onto the bed beside her. _Who am I?_ She thought in disbelief. Giggles? Please. 

Cassian laughed. “Never thought I’d hear Nesta Archeron giggle.”

“I do not _giggle_ ,” she snapped, but sighed when he rolled on top of her, seeking her mouth with his. Nesta spread her legs, and Cassian nestled between them, his hardness rubbing against her clit. She moaned at the friction and arched up. “More…”

Cassian toyed with the waistband of her jeans. “Okay if I...?”

“Off,” she muttered, helping him unbutton them and shoving them down her legs. “You too,” she laid back against the duvet, clad only in her panties, and watched Cassian strip his jeans. She bit her lip as he surged back over her, covering his with his sleekly muscled body. With just the thin barrier of her panties and his boxers the only things separating them, she held back a shiver and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Still okay?” Cassian asked, mouth back at her breast. “We can just,” he grunted when she shifted her hips against his. “We can just leave it here.”

Nesta pulled back, looking him in the eye. His fiery eyes, so warm. Like they were looking _into_ her. She didn’t find it as terrifying as she used to. Now, she just felt safe. “Take your underwear off.”

Cassian reared up, slipping out of his underwear until he was completely naked, and Nesta had to take steady, measured breaths as the anxiety once again threatened to swallow her. _You are safe,_ she thought, and her magic hummed in agreement. _You are safe here._

Cassian slid down her body and wedged his shoulders between her thighs. He toyed with her panties, slipping them down her sleek legs until she was bare beneath him. He watched her as he lowered his face to her core, and began to lick at her folds.

Nesta gasped and arched up against his mouth, grabbing at the hair at the back of his head, pressing him closer. After a moment, he slipped a finger, then another, into her sheath, and she wailed at the sensation. So full, so unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She’d never touched herself much, and when she did, it had never felt as good as this.

“Cassian,” she moaned, unembarassed at how tightly she clenched her thighs around his head.

He nipped gently at her clit, and she bucked her hips. When Cassian thrust his fingers in and out of her, sucking at her clit, she arched her back and came, calling his name. He watched her, in the moonlight shining from his bedroom window. Nesta Archeron was the most beautiful woman he’d seen, head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy. He couldn’t believe she’d let him touch her, kiss her, like he’d wanted to for so long.

Cassian crawled up her body and gently spread her thighs open so he could meet her hips with his. 

“Yes,” she panted, when she heard the tear of a condom wrapper. “Goddess, yes. Do it.”

When his cock pushed into her, she tossed her head back against the duvet, and groaned at the fullness.

“Okay?” Cassian grunted, breathless.

She nodded, tugging him down to her and whined when he slid completely in. “Give me a,” she panted, “ a second.”

“Nesta,” he murmured against her lips, “God, you feel good.”

She shifted her hips, adjusting to his length, and Cassian nearly buckled at the sensation, hands fisting the bedsheets by her head.

“Okay,” she pressed on his ass with her palms, swiveling her hips to meet his. “Move.”

“Don’t wanna,” he said, instead opting for a slow grind of his hips against hers that put pressure on her oversensitive clit. Nesta’s gasp faded into a moan when he pressed his hips tightly against hers.

“Move, damn it,” she muttered, another orgasm already building. “ _Now_.”

Cassian couldn’t help a smirk before pulling out almost to the tip, and thrusting back to the root. Nesta moaned, and when he wrapped an arm around her back to keep her in place, she cried aloud when his thrusts grew faster, harder. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and arched up, wrapping her legs tightly around his back.

She never thought sex would feel this way; Cassian’s body, warm and heavy was a comforting weight above her. He fit in the cradle of her hips almost perfectly, and his cock was thick, hitting all the spots inside her, the friction hot and addictive. She felt the fire in her blood come to life, pleasure threatening to consume her.

Cassian pressed his face into the hollow of her neck, and grunted with each thrust, crying out with Nesta in tandem.

“Harder,” she practically whined. “I need-”

“I got you, sweetheart,” he swiveled his hips again, reaching a hand to rub at her clit. “Come for me, beautiful.”

When Nesta came, she came with a long, keening wail. The orgasm, simmering in her core, burst, sending pleasure washing through Nesta’s body. She shook, she cried. Cassian clung tighter, thrusting harder, until she lay against the bedsheets, panting for breath. Cassian grunted, slamming his hips against hers once, twice, before he buried himself in her and groaned, long and loud, coming after her.

Cassian pressed his face against her neck, resting his full bodyweight on her. Nesta found she didn’t mind the weight; she thought she’d feel more trapped, underneath his heavy frame. But unlike with Tomas, Cassian felt… safe. He felt comforting and safe and _right_ , pressing her into the mattress.

Nesta stared at the ceiling, drained, feeling lighter than she had in a long time. Cassian idly stroked a hand up along her waist, and lifted his head to look at her. “You okay?”

She nodded, and couldn’t help the smile that crept across her face. Embarrassed, she turned her face away. Cassian tilted her chin back to meet his eyes. “Nesta? Any soreness or anything?”

“I’m… Oh my Goddess,” she whispered. “That was…”

“You’re welcome,” Cassian said, and she lifted her head to glare at him, but there was no venom behind it. He laughed, and shifted, pulling out, and she grunted. Maybe she was a _little_ sore. “Be right back,” he kissed her nose and threw the duvet over her. She lay there, stunned for a moment, unused to the affection.

She leaned up on her elbows and watched him walk to the bathroom, watching the muscles ripple in his back. She squinted. There, in the darkness, she could make out something adorning the skin, along his shoulder blades. Two shapes, in black ink, lines and whorls coming together to form… were those… _wings_?

“You have tattoos,” she blurted out.

“Yeah,” Cassian called from the bathroom. “Me and my brothers all have them, it’s a family heritage thing. They’re wings.”

He had wings.

The memory washed over her, pinning her in place. A bowl of herbs, the moonlight. A spell. _He’ll have fire in his eyes… He’s afraid of the dark... he can tell when people tell lies… have wings._ And the last one… _He’ll be a good man._

He wasn’t supposed to exist. _Cassian_ wasn’t supposed to exist.

Her heart suddenly ached, felt heavier than it had in a long, long time, and she nearly cried out at the wave of agony that washed over her. Fear, pain, despair. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She’d been so careful, so precise. Her spell had been perfect.

Before she could bolt, Cassian ambled back towards the bed, throwing himself behind Nesta and sliding the duvet over them both. She was frozen, heart thumping as he slipped his arms around her and pulled her tightly against his chest. 

“You okay?” He asked her again, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“Fine,” she whispered, forcing herself to relax. “Just… tired.”

Cassian pulled the duvet up tighter around her shoulders. “Sleep. I got you, sweetheart.”

Nesta closed her eyes. _I will_ not _cry. Not over this._

Archeron women truly never deserved anything good. When she had even a taste of something joyful and happy, the curse was there, twisting it and punishing her for daring to make the same mistake as Maria Archeron, first of her line. For daring to try to be happy.

Cassian was the best man she ever knew, she could admit that now. He was warm, and kind, funny, and even-keeled. He made her feel safe.

 _But,_ she reminded herself, _you are the only one who can truly protect your heart._

When she felt Cassian’s breaths deepen, his warm weight slackening against her back, she rolled over, gently.

“ _The moon watches, the sun waits,”_ she whispered, tracing her fingertip down his forehead, the slope of his nose, his lips, to his chin. “ _Darkness lulls, daylight wakes.”_

Cassian shifted, rolling to his back, his snores deepening as the sleeping charm took hold. He would be in a deep sleep until morning came. Enough time for Nesta to get away.

She grabbed her clothes, tugging on her panties and jeans, cursing when she realized her shoes, shirt and bra were still in the living room.

Luckily, his brothers were still out, and Nesta managed to dress quickly, in silence.

She wished she could winnow like Feyre. She couldn’t walk home, not this late. And she wouldn’t dare take his motorcycle.

She spotted in the corner of the kitchen, an unused, old broom. Her broom, of course. She hadn’t flown in years, but she didn’t have any other choice.

She stood in the backyard, wrapping her jacket tightly around herself, tracing a sigil in the dirt. “ _Over the hills and across the sea, I call for my broom to come to me_.”

She stood in silence, as leaves rustled. The nights were eerily still without the birds to make noise. And then a gust of wind, another rustle, and her broom fell out of the sky, landing in the grass beside her.

She’d crafted it by hand when she was sixteen, under Amren’s stern tutelage. The stick was polished oak, for stability, and the twigs cut from boughs of rowan, for protection.

She mounted the broom, wincing at the soreness between her legs. She pushed those thoughts aside, instead looking at the moon and thinking of the Goddess and her three faces: mother, maiden, crone. She officially had left the maiden cycle, so to speak.

Amren and Mor would have made a bigger deal of it, perhaps throwing her a small ceremony, honoring this rite of passage. Nesta shook her head, anger and sadness sharp and biting in her gut.

“Fly,” she murmured, and the broom shook, before lifting her off the ground and into the sky. Nesta had always loved flying, loved the freedom. It was like Cassian’s motorcycle, but faster, freer.

 _I bet he would have liked a broomstick ride_.

No, she couldn’t think of that now. Not when she’d nearly ruined everything.

She set off into the night, flying home, and tried to convince herself the tears streaming down her face were from the wind, nothing more.

***

Cassian groaned, shifted in his sleep. He was so tired… so heavy… so warm. But something woke him, slightly. When he turned to the window, eyes bleary, he swore he saw a shadow of a woman on a broomstick, hair streaming behind her, crossing the sky and past the moon. Then sleep pulled him back under, and there was nothing but darkness. But for once, he was not afraid, not when he finally had Nesta beside him. Under the sleeping charm, he didn’t notice her absence, and reached for the pillow that still smelled of her, the scent lulling him back into sleep.

***

Lucien leaned against the conference room wall, next to the window. He laid his small mirror out in a puddle of moonlight. “ _Shadow and night, appear in my sight,_ ” he said.

Ianthe appeared presently, hair mussed, looking frustrated.

“What?” She barked. “I’m busy.”

“The sheriff and deputy are onto me,” Lucien said. “They’ve been asking questions about the investigation, the sisters. They ordered a copy of the autopsy report from me.”

“You called me because you have a small problem you don’t know how to handle?” Ianthe snapped. “I don’t have time to babysit you too, Lucien. I’m _busy_.”

“They’re putting the pieces together,” Lucien warned. “I don’t know how close I can get to the sisters with them breathing down my neck.”

“Then kill the sheriff and deputy for all I care,” Ianthe waved a hand. “They’re mortals, expendable. What part of ‘destroy any and all obstacles’ did you not understand, when I first put you on this job?”

“The sisters will know something is up,” Lucien said. “They’re close to the brothers. Even their other brother, a bartender, they know almost everything about the sisters.”

“Clearly they don’t know the _whole_ story,” Ianthe said impatiently. “I’ll be there soon. We only have a few more days until Samhain, so for Goddess sake, learn how to handle your own problems until I get there.”

“Yes, Ianthe,” Lucien muttered. His eyeball whirred, a reminder of the power she had over him.

“Scare the Archerons, kill the sheriff, I really don’t give a fuck what you do, as long as you do it.”

“They know I’ve been contacting the sisters.”

“Then that’s your problem. Ianthe glanced behind her. “Anything else you’d like to annoy me with?”

Lucien shook his head.

“Good. I don’t have time. I better not hear from you again unless it’s an actual emergency,” Ianthe flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Watch the Archerons. And, if you can manage it, destroy the wards around their house.”

“How?”

“Look for salt, crystals, any sort of circle around the property. Goddess,” Ianthe muttered, disappearing from view for a moment. “Check your email. I sent you a spell - burn galangal root, black candles, etc. Don’t ask me where to get it, don’t waste my time, and don’t fuck this up. Finish the job.”

She disappeared without another word, leaving Lucien alone, unease finally beginning to stir in his gut.

Elain Archeron, so pretty and kind, and her sisters… Ianthe wouldn’t do anything _too_ bad to them, would she?

Lucien didn’t know the answer, but he had a feeling it wasn’t good.

***

Elain knew Nesta had left, and Feyre had returned. She’d sensed their presences, coming and going from the house. House liked to know everything about the whereabouts of its inhabitants, and Elain was always the one to See what the house saw.

She also knew then, that Feyre was not alone. Not that she needed her Sight to know that; the grunts and gasps from Feyre’s bedroom were loud enough to be heard downstairs.

Elain quickly grabbed her coat and shoes, face flaming. Feyre was with Rhys, she could sense it.

And she also Sensed when a presence tried to break the wards at the north end of the back yard.

Elain paused in the kitchen, sliding her hand across the counter until she encountered the knife block.

She considered calling out for Feyre, but hesitated. _What if I’m crazy?_

Elain was tough. Everyone thought she was the quietest, meekest sister, and they were usually right. But they were wrong when they thought she was the weakest. She may not be as powerful or angry as Nesta or passionate as Feyre, but she was clever.

Elain scribbled a protection sigil on a stray piece of paper - a small circle with interlocking loops- and scribbled one for a binding charm - twining lines in a triangle.

Shoving them in her pockets and palming the knife, Elain eased the back door open and stepped onto the back porch.

_Maybe I’m being paranoid._

She moved silently across the lawn, and wished she could winnow like Feyre, or had Nesta’s witchfyre. Her vines were useful, but she needed to sing to get them to grow quickly.

She approached the tree line, where a figure moved against the edge of the clearing. They didn’t see her as she moved closer, stepping from tree to tree, until she slunk up behind them.

She pressed her palm against the binding sigil in her pocket. “Blood and bone, legs of stone,” she whispered.

The figure yelped and fell over. Elain turned on her phone light and clutched the knife, kicking the figure into their back.

“Elain?”

She started down at Azriel, looking adorably confused. “Az? What the hell! You scared the _shit_ out of me!”

She crumpled the binding sigil, breaking the spell. Azriel sprawled his limbs, still confused. “What the hell just happened?”

“You fell over?” She said, sliding the knife into her belt under her coat, out of sight.

“I… guess.” Azriel sat up.

“What are you doing in my yard?” Elain asked, hands on her hips. “Is this some fucked up version of security detail?”

Azriel winced and stood, shaking his limbs out. He didn’t know where the pins and needles feeling came from, or why he’d suddenly lost control of his legs altogether. “Since Lucien’s been skulking around, Cassian and I thought we should take turns keeping an eye out.”

“By acting like a stalker?”

Azriel rubbed at the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah. Great idea, right?”

“Not at all,” Elain said dryly. “You seriously freaked me out.”

“Why did you come outside?” Azriel asked. “If I _was_ Lucien or an intruder, _approaching_ them?” He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I thought you were smarter than that, Elain.”

“And I thought you were a good cop, not a creep.” She crossed her arms too. “And I’ve told you; I can take care of myself.”

Azriel shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“I’d ask you in, but I don’t invite stalkers into my house.” Elain said. “Also Feyre has… company.”

Azriel’s eyes glinted. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Rhys all night.” He paused. “Shit. I’m supposed to be at Velaris. In his place.”

Elain snickered. “Oops.”

Azriel rubbed the back of his neck again; something about Elain always threw him off. “Do you… want to come with me?”

“Well, my alternative is to listen to Feyre and her… guest,” Elain blushed. “Yes, let’s get the hell out of here.”

***

Lucien watched Elain and Azriel get into his car and drive away, leaving the house practically defenseless. The other sister was inside, but she was otherwise occupied. The eldest was gone.

The deputy hadn’t seen him, he’d been in the shadows, thanks to a glamour from Ianthe, waiting for his moment.

The clearing was ringed with a faint circle of salt and herbs; it was easy to run his leg through, kicking dirt and salt aside until the circle had broken.

He yelped and drew his leg back. It felt like a bolt of lightning had surged up his leg; without Ianthe’s protection charm, he likely would have lost all use of his leg entirely. Even with the charm, he could tell this was a powerful protection ward.

 _Forgive me, Elain,_ Lucien thought as he weakened the wards further, and cast a glamour to cover any sign of damage to them, burning galangal root according to Ianthe’s instructions. _I hope one day you’ll understand._

***

When Azriel pulled into the parking lot of Velaris, he groaned. It was Friday night, and the parking lot was full.

“You moonlight as a bartender?” Elain asked.

“Cassian and I do when Rhy needs help,” Azriel said. “He texted me short-notice tonight.” _And Cassian’s busy trying to question your sister._

“Need help?” Elain asked, following him into the packed restaurant.

“Sure,” he said. “You know how to mix drinks?”

Elain arched an eyebrow. “I lived with Nesta for five years.”

Azriel threw back his head and laughed. Usually so stoic, his face came alive when he smiled.

“Alright,” he said, nudging her behind the bar. “Hit em.”

The evening passed quickly; Elain proved her mettle as a good bartender, and Azriel was good company.

Customers flirted with both of them; Azriel brushed off the women politely, glancing at Elain after each one to make sure she didn’t seem upset, and he glared at the men who tried to catch Elain’s eye. She rolled her eyes each time and sent them off with drinks. They still tipped her, and avoided the bar for the rest of the night.

“How long have you been a bartender slash cop?” Elain asked during a lull.

“Three years,” Azriel shrugged. “We jumped from place to place, finally got hired here. Rhys wasn’t in law enforcement, but he’s a good businessman.”

Elain nodded at the crowd of mostly women. “Maybe the resident bartenders are just hot.”

Azriel felt his ears burn.

“So,” Elain trailed off. “You’re all adopted?”

“Yeah,” Azriel said. “Rhys’ mom adopted Cassian and me when we were kids. She was a social worker, and Cassian was an orphan. My parents were… negligent.”

Elain resisted glancing at his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel shrugged. “I’m not,” he dried a glass and set it back under the bar. “Meant I wound up in the family I have.”

Elain tilted her head. “Did you get along as kids?”

Azriel laughed. “I think that’s why mom adopted me. Because I kept Rhy and Cass from killing each other.”

Elain shook her head and smiled. “I’m not surprised. Middle child syndrome.”

“Are you insinuating Rhys is the older brother, or Cassian?”

“Cassian has little brother energy, all the way,” Elain said, and Azriel laughed again. Deep, from his belly.

“Elain?” She turned her head to see her ex fiance, looking half-surprised and half-terrified. And half-livid. His group of goons, star football team back in high school, now unemployed, aimless freeloaders, at his back.

“Graysen,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing _here_?” He sneered. “Finally come back to join your creepy aunts’ cat lady cult?”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Very charming. Very clever. Who came up with that, your shrew of a mother? Wife? Did you finally trap some poor woman into marrying you?”

“Get out of our town, _witch_ ,” he spat, and nudged his friend. “Witch, witch, you’re a bi”

“You’re drunk,” She started, but Azriel was already coming around from behind the bar, pointing to the door.

“Out,” he said. “You’re banned. For life.” He began herding Graysen away from Elain.

“Over _her_?” Graysen gestured to Elain. “C’mon man, you don’t know the shit she’s capable of. Her whole family’s cursed.” He sneered. “You ruin peoples lives just by being here.”

“Was that an invitation?” Elain asked, following Azriel. “Because Nesta told me all about your… _condition._ She said you _squealed_ like a _pig_.” When Elain smiled at him, Graysen took a step back, and Azriel paused. This was not the innocent, sweet Elain he’d begun to know. This woman was different. Dangerous.

“You know, Graysen,” Elain said. “I wouldn’t want to upset me, if I were you. I’m sure they,” she jerked her chin at his entourage, “would be _very_ interested to hear the reason why I left you.”

“You didn’t leave me,” Graysen spluttered. “ _I_ left _you_ , remember?”

Elain smiled. “I distinctly remember you crying when I broke it off.”

Graysen’s face twisted, and he surged forward, as if to grab Elain by the shoulders. Azriel lunged, but before he could get between them, Elain fixed her gaze on him, and he jerked to a stop, and fell to the ground, as if tripped by an invisible force.

She bent and whispered something in his ear, and when she stood, Graysen’s face was white as a sheet.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Elain said, walking back behind the bar, as if nothing had happened. She glanced at his friends. “I know you have about three braincells between the five of you, but seriously. Get the fuck out, keep mine and my sisters names out of your mouths, or,” Elain leveled her gaze at them. “Maybe I’ll show you just how true some of those Archeron rumors really are.”

The men blanched.

“I heard they eat babies, man,” one whispered.

“One of the aunts kidnapped my uncle when I was a kid, dude,” another said. “They found him in a dumpster, drained of blood. He was missing his _balls,_ dude!” 

Elain recalled that particular death, he’d been unfortunate enough to be Amren’s lover. The ball severing had been unrelated, just another side effect of the curse. But Elain always wondered if Amren had nudged the curse in that direction; she _had_ caught him cheating with the neighbor’s daughter, twenty years their junior.

“Just the one,” Elain said, and cackled when they practically dragged Graysen out the door.

Azriel glanced between Elain and the group of fleeing ex-football players. “What the _hell_ was that?”

“My past,” Elain said. “Our aunts had the unfortunate reputation as black widows. They were never actually anyone’s widow though.”

“Is this about the Wiccan thing?”

Elain snorted. “The Wiccan thing. Sure, the east coast is as WASPish as you can get; we weren’t popular with the local church groups or public school system.”

Azriel shook his head, staring at her. “Why the hell would you provoke him?”

“I told you, I handle my own problems,” Elain said. She grinned at him. “Aren’t you excited to come to Samhain? We’ll show you what it’s _really_ all about.”

“No naked moonlight dancing, and I might lose my balls?” Azriel grinned back. “Not sure it’s worth it.”

Elain bit her lip, tilting her head. “Well. No to the neutering, but maybe to the dancing.” She winked. “It’s always better with a partner anyway.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say, and Elain had turned her head. But he caught the blush that rose to her cheeks.

Velaris emptied soon after, and Azriel drove Elain home after closing down.

They sat in the driveway for a moment, and she was reminded again of the not-a-date she’d had with Lucien, and Azriel being her escort. Sometimes she’d pretend he really had come to take her on a date, and that was just the beginning.

 _It’s what friends do,_ he’d said to her. What if she didn’t want to just be his friend? And friends didn’t flirt about naked moonlight dancing… _did_ they?

“Thanks for coming with me,” Azriel said. “I had a good time. I uh, appreciated the company.”

“Thanks for bringing me,” Elain said. She jerked her head at the house. “It’s probably safe to go in, I think. It’s,” she glanced at her phone, “two am.” She turned back to Azriel. “The next time you want to skulk around my property like a stalker, you can just knock on the door, like a normal person.”

Azriel laughed. “Sorry about that.” His hands flexed on the wheel, as if keeping himself from reaching out to touch her.

Elain knew she could cheat, try to See ten minutes into the future to see what would happen next, but that wouldn’t be fair. And it wouldn’t be as fun.

“Azriel,” she said softly, and when he looked at her, she made her move. Elain cupped the side of his face and kissed him, slowly, deeply. His hands gripped the steering wheel, she didn’t know if in surprise or not.

When she pulled back, his eyes were inky, face slack. A blush just warming the tips of his ears. He was adorable.

“Goodnight,” Elain said, and went for the door handle. Azriel finally let go of the steering wheel and grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her back to him, and kissing her again. Elain shifted forward, to climb into his lap, to kiss him harder, she didn’t know. The seatbelt jerked her back, and she slammed against the seat with a breathless laugh.

“Goodnight,” she said again, unbuckling, leaning in for another quick kiss, and before Azriel could grab her, draw her closer for more, she was disappearing into her house. She leaned against the doorframe and waved, made the universal signal for ‘call me’, and closed the door.

Azriel made sure she locked it before driving home. He took the long way, lost in thought, stunned, utterly entranced by the middle Archeron sister.

He didn’t notice the shadow of a woman on a broomstick pass along the road before disappearing into the trees.

***

Elain had just made herself a cup of chamomile tea before bed, when Nesta blew in through the back door, cheeks bright, hair windblown. She clutched her broomstick, and Elain blinked.

“Go for a flight? At this hour?”

Nesta shook her head, slumping to the kitchen table, broom carelessly dropped to the floor. Elain watched in disbelief as tears began to stream down Nesta’s face.

Nesta was a mess; she’d barely made it home, trusting the broom to guide them back, like a homing pigeon. She cried, not that she’d admit it. Her heart felt so damn heavy.

“What happened?” Elain asked. “Nesta, are you okay?”

Nesta shook her head, breath hitching. “I’ve made a _terrible_ mistake.”

“Nesta,” Elain scooted her chair closer. “What is it?”

“I was, I was with… _Cassian_ ,” she gulped, palms swiping at her cheeks. “We, uh, oh Goddess, we-”

Elain’s eyes glowed, and she gasped. “You _slept_ with the _sheriff_?”

“I had no idea what I was doing,” Nesta gulped. “It just _happened_ , Elain! It was like I _completely_ lost my mind! One moment, we were talking, and then,” her breath hitched again. “It was… we couldn’t stop. I didn’t _want_ to stop.”

“It’s okay,” Elain soothed her. “If you didn’t want to stop, and he didn’t, like, _force_ you-”

“No,” Nesta shook her head. “I lost my damn mind and practically jumped his bones. Goddess, I’ve ruined _everything._ ”

“Okay, it’s not ideal you slept with the sheriff,” Elain said, “but it’s _Cassian_ . He’s the nicest guy. He’d _never_ hurt you.”

“No, but I’m going to hurt _him!”_ Nesta wailed.

The stairs creaked and they both turned their heads to see Feyre, hair mussed, clutching a robe tightly around her. “Nesta? What happened?”

“She, uh,” Elain wiggled her eyebrows, “with the sheriff.”

“With Cassian?” Feyre asked, and grinned. “That’s great!” She paused. “Unless… Nesta, did he _hurt_ you?” Her expression turned thunderous.

“No,” Nesta gasped, tears flowing freely. “I, I just,” she hiccuped, and Elain slid her her tea. Feyre sat down across from them. “I’ve ruined his life.”

“Explain,” Feyre said. “Are you worried about like, compromising the case? His job?”

“No,” Nesta sighed, pressing her palms into her eyes. She was a whirlwind of emotions; elation mixed with despair mixed with anguish mixed with- “I’ve essentially killed him.”

When Feyre and Elain gestured for her to continue, Nesta sighed again. “Do you remember the True Love spell I cast, when we were kids?”

“On the roof,” Feyre said.

“The aunts were so mad when they found you up there,” Elain said.

Nesta bowed her head. “I thought I created a man who didn’t exist. But I think I created Cassian instead. Or somehow cast a spell on him when we were kids. I have _no_ idea how he found me.”

“What were the qualities?” Feyre asked. “Tall? Stupid?”

Nesta didn’t laugh at the joke. “ _He will hear my call a mile away. He’s afraid of the dark. He can flip pancakes in the air. He will be marvellously kind. His favorite shape is a star. He can tell when people tell lies. He’ll have fire in his eyes. He’ll have wings. And, he’ll be a good man,_ ” she recited.

Elain raised an eyebrow. “You can remember all that?”

“It’s been burned into my brain,” Nesta admitted. “I created my true love, so I’d never meet him. And he wouldn’t die, and I wouldn’t be left like mom, or aunt Mor or aunt Amren, and now Cassian’s going to _die_ , and Oh my Goddess,” she started crying again. “My heart feels so _heavy_!”

“What about Cassian fits those descriptors?” Feyre asked. “I mean, he’s great, but you wouldn’t be acting like this if you weren’t a hundred percent certain it _was_ him.”

“He _is_ afraid of the dark,” Nesta said. “I don’t know about the pancakes thing, or whatever, but he pops up when I think about him, no matter where I am. He’s the kindest man I know. He knows when I’m lying, and his eyes are like flames, and he has these,” she gestured at her back, “these two tattoos. Wings. Says he and his brothers all have them.”

Feyre’s eyes bugged out, but she quickly recovered. She’d noticed those same ones on Rhys’s back, when she left him sleeping in her bed to investigate the shrieking in the kitchen. They were beautiful, and large. Elain noticed, raising an eyebrow at Feyre, who shook her head. Elain rolled her eyes.

“Okay, so let’s say this _is_ him,” Elain said. “Nesta, you don’t know if he’ll die.”

Nesta held back a sob. “They always do.”

“Do you love him?” Feyre asked.

Nesta paused. _Did_ she love him? “I’m not sure I _can_ love,” she muttered, head bowed, tears falling onto the table. “I can’t do this. I _can’t_.”

Her heart hurt. She was so used to its numbness. But this stony weight, this ache, was almost unbearable. She pressed her hand against her chest. “We have to do the memory spell.”

“Nesta,” Elain and Feyre started, but Nesta cut them off.

“No. We write it, right now. And we cast it on Samhain.”

“You can’t use it to run away from your problems,” Feyre said. “I know you’re hurt-”

“Don’t,” Nesta said. Feyre blinked at the naked pain in her voice. “I’m really, _really_ not in the mood, Feyre. Just… don’t.”

“Okay,” Feyre said quietly. She sighed, and went to the workroom, returning with the grimoire. “Memory spell it is.”

Elain exchanged a concerned look with her before putting a gentle hand on Nesta’s shoulder. “We can do this in the morning.”

“No,” Nesta said, voice empty. “We need to do this now.”

The sisters sat and pored over the grimoire for hours, weaving a spell. Changing words, adding herbs and crystals, debating whether to use the iron or copper cauldron, whether they should cast it at midnight or sunset. How much they wanted the brothers to forget. And whether Lucien should be there.

“He needs to be there if we want to properly enspell him,” Elain said. “I’m just worried about Cassian and Azriel kicking him out.”

“We can get him later?” Feyre suggested.

“No, it needs to happen at once,” Nesta frowned at the phrasing of the spell. “Are you sure we want to erase just the belladonna?”

“We need to erase only what’s necessary to cover our asses,” Elain reminded her. “But enough that nothing gets jogged.”

Nesta bit her lip. If she could figure out how to make Cassian’s stronger, to make him forget her before the curse could strike...

“I’m going to bed,” Feyre said, rubbing her eyes.

Elain was about to tease her about her ‘visitor’ when her vision went white.

Feyre and Nesta watched as Elain’s eyes began to glow, and she swayed in her seat, mouth moving, hands twitching, and then slumping in her chair.

Elain’s head jerked up.

“What did you see?” Feyre asked.

“Something bad,” Elain said. “Something bad is coming. I’ve seen it before. Goddess,” Feyre was shocked at the fear in Elain’s eyes. “If we don’t find the aunts, we’re in danger. Something’s not right.” She sprang up, checking the wards on the house, but they were solid. Crystals at the windows, where they’d left them. Rosemary wreaths against all doors, for protection, horseshoes, the works.

But she still felt uneasy.

“It’s late,” Feyre finally said. “We can check in the morning.”

“What’s one more thing?” Nesta muttered as they went upstairs to bed. “Bring it.”

Her heart felt like a weight in her chest as she lay down to bed, and thought about another, warmer weight in a bed across town, and wished she was there, instead of cold and alone.

 _But remember,_ the voice deep inside her whispered. _This is what is meant for you._

She slept fitfully, and when she dreamed, she dreamt of fiery eyes and wings.

  
  



	13. I Am a Missile, I Am the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter threatened to kill me. I was so exhausted. I can't believe I got through it. Thanks so much to everyone for your kudos, the bookmarks, the comments and all the love. It really really does make my day and it helps keep me motivated to tackle the next chapter.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Hex Girl, the Hex Girls  
> -I Put a Spell on You, Annie Lenox cover  
> -Witchy Woman, the Eagles  
> -Song of the Witches, S.J. Tucker  
> -Witch's Rune, S.J. Tucker  
> -Burn the Witch, Shawn James  
> -L.A. Devotee, Panic! At the Disco  
> -Missile, Dorothy

_I am a missile_   
_I am the fire_   
_Love is destruction_   
_But this war is mine, this war is mine_

_-Missile, Dorothy_

_With this little cobweb potion, you'll fall into dark devotion_   
_If you ever lose affection,_   
_I can change your whole direction_   
_I'm a Hex Girl, and I'm gonna put a spell on you_

_-Hex Girl, the Hex Girls_

_I love you anyhow  
And I don't care if you don't want me  
I'm yours right now  
I put a spell on you, because you're mine  
_

_-I Put a Spell on You, Annie Lenox cover_

_As I breathe deep and prepare for my passing  
I hear them chant,  
Burn the witch  
_

_-Burn the Witch, Shawn James_

_'Cause I am, I am, a little wicked..._   
_Hands red, hands red, just like you said_   
_I am, a little wicked_   
_No one calls you honey, when you're sitting on a throne_

_-A Little Wicked, Valerie Broussard_

Nesta avoided Cassian as best she could for the rest of the week.

He’d called, texted. Threatened to throw rocks at her window like in a John Cusack movie and blast “In Your Eyes” from a boom box. Of course he was a fan of cheesy eighties movies. She would have thought it was cute, if thinking of him at all didn’t send pangs of pure agony shooting through her chest.

On her phone, a barrage of texts from the last few days filled her lockscreen, unopened.

_Wednesday: DO NOT ANSWER: Morning, sweetheart, I didn’t see you when I woke up._

_Wednesday: DO NOT ANSWER: Nesta? Did you go home?_

_Wednesday: DO NOT ANSWER:_ **_missed call_ **

_Wednesday: DO NOT ANSWER: Nesta? Is everything okay? Call me._

_Wednesday: DO NOT ANSWER: Nesta, if last night upset you, I want to apologize._

_Thursday: DO NOT ANSWER:_ **_missed call_ **

_Thursday: DO NOT ANSWER: Well, it’s been two days, I heard from Rhys that Feyre said you’ve been home._

_Friday: DO NOT ANSWER: Can I see you? Please?_

_Friday: DO NOT ANSWER:_ **_missed call_ **

_Friday: Nesta: I need some time to think about some things. Alone. I’ll see you this weekend._

It had taken her six hours to write that text. Elain and Feyre had sat with her at the kitchen table, watching her draft, delete, and redraft it.

She put on a brave face and threw herself into preparations for Samhain, and for the memory spell. But her chest ached; this deep, heavy feeling was new, and nothing she did would settle it.

Cassian finally left her alone, and the absence was almost worse. Now, Nesta was afraid she’d get a text from Rhys or Azriel, with some bad news to explain why Cassian was no longer trying to contact her. The curse would strike again, and Cassian would be yet another victim.

That, of course, all depended upon whether or not Cassian loved her. And that terrified her.

“Nesta?” Elain called. Nesta’s head snapped up, grateful that particular train of thought had been interrupted. She straightened from where she was leaning against the back porch railing.

“Sorry. I’m with you.”

Feyre and Elain were standing in a circle around the firepit, hands linked, reaching out to Nesta.

“If we want to try and Summon the aunts, we have to do it now,” Elain reminded her. “We have to finish setting up for tonight, and the guys will be here in a few hours.”

Samhain had arrived.

The leaves on the trees were vibrant and beautiful, fiery shades of red and orange and yellow ringing the clearing, just in time for the holiday.

They’d piled the wood for the bonfire a few paces away from the worn, stone altar. The altar was draped in wreaths of marigolds and rosemary. Surrounded by candles and jars of more blossoms, a few pumpkins and apples, was a picture of their mother and the aunts in the center. Other portraits of Archeron witches through the generations were clustered around it. 

Elain had chosen that picture, because it included Mor and Amren. _Just in case_. It turned Nesta’s stomach to see it. And she could barely look at the photograph of their mother.

Elain propped the grimoire on the lip of the altar and waved Nesta over.

“We don’t have much time,” she blew some hair out of her eyes. “We still have to finish baking the pumpkin bread, and finish the brew.”

The brew. They’d crafted a memory brew, cherry picking from other recipes in the grimoire. It was simmering on the stove in a silver cauldron, almost ready for the Knight brothers.

“Fine,” Nesta said, taking her sisters’ hands.

Feyre had combed through the workroom and had managed to find a strand of Mor’s hair; Elain, after some digging in Amren’s room, had found Amren’s sewing kit, and half an embroidered handkerchief, dotted with blood. Amren refused to use thimbles; she claimed a thimble was ‘for the weak’ and the ‘unskilled.’ Her often-bloodstained tablecloths and handkerchiefs begged to differ.

“I call upon the wind, to carry our call,” Elain began. “I call upon the water, to search the seas.”

“I call upon the earth to guide our feet,” Feyre continued. “I call upon the fire, to light the way.”

“I ask to seek and ask to find,” Nesta said. “What is lost return in kind.”

They tossed Mor’s hair and Amren’s handkerchief into the fire, and each witch pricked her finger. “With our Archeron blood, we summon: Morrigan Archeron, Amren Archeron,” Elain said. 

“Over the hills and across the sea, on the wings of the wind and the whispering trees,” Feyre said.

“Return to us, as we call thee.” Nesta finished.

The sisters clasped hands and looked up to the darkening sky. “Goddess of the moon and earth and sea; maiden, mother, crone she be; we call upon and ask of thee; that what is lost returns to me.”

Nesta closed her eyes, feeling her magic dance and twine along with Feyre and Elain’s. She’d truly missed this. Her coven, her power, all of it. She could just taste her flames, stirring to life...

“Sisters three we always be, we bind this spell and so mote it be.” The sisters finished, and the fire flared, then dimmed.

They waited a few moments, clutching their hands, but nothing changed. Mor and Amren didn’t appear suddenly from the forest. They didn’t winnow into the clearing. Not even a bird cried, heralding anyone’s arrival.

They were still alone.

“Maybe we should give it some time,” Elain said.

“Typical,” Nesta muttered, already breaking away to head back to the porch. She needed a drink. “We’ve done all we can. If they wanted to show by now, they would.”

“You don’t think they’re… _dead_ ,” Feyre said, glancing at the photograph on the altar. “We’d sense it.”

Elain shrugged, watching Nesta walk away. “I wish I could See anything, but I can’t.”

“We’re fucked,” Nesta called over her shoulder. “Time to face the music.”

Feyre and Elain shared a look and sighed. Whether they liked it or not, the memory spell had just become their only option.

***

Lucien had checked the wards of the Archeron house early that morning, before the sisters had woken up, and found his glamour intact, wards still broken. Perfect. Ianthe was set to arrive soon, and then he’d finally be free of her.

To rattle them, he’d made sure they saw him when they were in town during the last few days. Just at a distance, nothing more than a wave and a smile, but even then, it set them on edge. Nesta sneered. Feyre often went pale, and Elain would watch him, distrust in her eyes.

He felt a twinge of guilt, but reminded himself of what he had to gain. 

He crouched in the bushes behind the Knight’s house, hidden by another glamour. _Kill them, I don’t care,_ Ianthe had said. So, after some thought, he decided he wouldn’t _kill_ them, exactly. Just give them some decent trouble to keep them busy for awhile.

The fire was easy enough to prep. Just some gasoline here, a clogged gutter full of dry leaves. All it needed was a spark. And he’d be happy to take care of it that evening, when nightfall came.

 _And a housefire has Nesta Archeron’s name written all over it,_ Lucien thought. He thought Ianthe would like the extra touch.

***

Nesta tugged uncomfortably at the bodice of her dress. “Do we really have to wear these ridiculous outfits?”

“They’re _traditional_ ,” Elain said, slapping Nesta’s hands away. “You look hot. Very Stevie Nicks-meets-Elvira.”

Nesta wrinkled her nose. “I could do with a little less… boob.”

Elain rolled her eyes and finished adjusting the drape of Nesta’s black dress. “It’s not a crime to feel sexy, ever once in awhile.”

Nesta pursed her lips, but stopped fussing with just how much cleavage the dress showed.

Elain tied a sash around Nesta’s waist, and stepped back. “Perfect. You look,” she paused, “you look like mom.”

Nesta looked at her reflection. She’d left her hair down, with the sides braided back, a style their mother had favored on special occasions. Her dress, however, was all hers. The aunts had made them for the sisters when they were younger, before everything changed. Elain had found them shoved into a closet, and urged her sisters to try them on. 

The dress was floor-length and form fitting, made of velvet with gold thread radiating from the hem, edging the long bell sleeves and neckline. Like flames taunting her, light danced off the thread, shimmering against the black fabric. The skirt swept the floor as Nesta turned away from the mirror.

“You look beautiful,” Nesta said to Elain. Elain’s dress was similar, silvery vines creeping up the sleeves and skirt, weaving across the dress almost as if they were alive. Elain grinned and twirled.

“I missed these dresses,” she said. “I missed celebrating like this.”

“Me too,” Feyre said from the doorway. “Mor and Amren would be happy. Mom too.”

Nesta sighed, and smiled at Feyre. “You look beautiful too.”

“I know,” Feyre winked, and swished her skirt. The dress glimmered with silver thread that upon closer inspection, traced constellations, clusters of stars dancing across the inky dress.

“How long until the guys get here?” Elain asked.

“Twenty minutes,” Feyre said. “And the potion’s almost done.”

Nesta nodded, inhaling deeply through her nose and deciding to ignore the waves of panic, the pang in her stomach. “Let’s do this.” She swept by Feyre and down the stairs, secretly loving how the heavy skirt flared out behind her. They may have been in a crisis, but it was still Samhain, her favorite night of the year.

In the kitchen, she moved the cauldron off the stove and let the brew settle. It smelled spicy, fragrant, and she hoped the mulled wine they planned to dose the brothers with would cover the bitter taste.

Feyre grabbed the three silver goblets laid out and waiting, and filled them halfway with mulled wine, warming on the stove beside the cauldron.

“The licorice should bind them,” Elain said. “Is there enough orris root? They won’t be persuaded if there’s not enough.”

“It’s in there,” Feyre said. She had briefly thought about leaving it out that morning, but had felt Nesta’s watchful eye, and added a generous helping, plus a little pinch for luck. “I added some mandrake and moonwater too.”

“Perfect,” Elain said. “It’s ready.” She passed out copies of the incantation they’d created, just in case. They didn’t need it; they’d rehearsed it long enough the spell was burned into their brains.

Elain’s head jerked towards the front door. “They’re here.” A knock sounded, half a second later

 _Cassian_. Nesta almost sensed him, her chest ached. She rubbed absentmindedly at her breastbone. Suddenly the thought of seeing him crashed into her, heavy, overwhelming. She felt Feyre’s hand, gentle against her palm, and squeezed it tightly.

Feyre dreaded seeing the brothers, just as much as Nesta. And Nesta found comfort in that.

Elain answered the door, and flung it open with a flourish. She grinned at them, but allowed herself to gaze at Azriel, for just a moment.

“Hi,” she said.

He smiled back, gentle and mellow.

Rhys stepped forward, offering a bouquet of flowers to Elain. “Thanks for having us over, despite… you know,” he said. Cassian shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Elain beamed. “They’re beautiful, perfect for the altar.” She beckoned them into the house. “Head out back, we’ve got the fire started.”

The brothers entered, wide eyed at the mismatched, macabre decor.

“So this is the Archeron House on the Hill,” Rhys said, striding towards the kitchen. “I never thought I’d actually see… the rest of it.”

“You look beautiful,” Azriel murmured to Elain as he brushed past, and she blushed.

“Hi, darling,” Rhys murmured, meeting Feyre’s upturned face for a kiss.

“Hi,” she said, ignoring the twinge of guilt. I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” he said softly, and raised an eyebrow. “Elain said something about an altar?”

“We won’t need to… _do_ anything, with the altar,” Azriel said. “Will we?”

Elain and Feyre laughed.

“They brought an offering,” Elain said, waved the flowers at Feyre and shot at glance at Nesta. “Help me finish setting up, and grab the knives.” She winked at the brothers.

Rhys blanched, and Azriel balked, but allowed the laughing Feyre and Elain to tug them towards the backyard, leaving Nesta and Cassian alone.

“Hi,” Nesta said quietly, and resisted crossing her arms, fidgeting. “Thanks, um, for coming.”

Cassian nodded; he’d glanced around the kitchen, the counters, at her sister’s faces. Anywhere but at her. She didn’t blame him. “I almost thought you’d tell me not to come.”

Nesta tucked her hair behind her ear. _Why, why is this so hard?_ “No, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Are you?” Cassian asked, finally looking her in the eye.

“You know I’m not lying,” Nesta said. “Really. I’m… thank you. For being here.”

They were on opposite ends of the kitchen, but to Nesta it was a chasm, yawning between them.

“Will you tell me why you left?” He asked. Although his voice was steady, she could hear hints of pain. “Was it something I did?”

“No,” Nesta said. _I will not cry,_ she thought, fisting her hands so she wouldn’t rub at her eyes. “That night was… everything.” _How do I tell you I think I lov-_ “After tonight,” she caught herself, and resisted the urge to rub at her aching chest. “Can we just… enjoy today?”

“Tomorrow,” Cassian said. “You tell me everything tomorrow.”

She nodded, because if she spoke, he’d hear the lie.

Cassian finally came closer, close enough she could reach out and touch him. He tilted his head down to her. “You alright, sweetheart?”

 _No,_ she thought. _And I don’t deserve you._ She nodded again, and swiveled for the tray of goblets. “Drink?” She asked. “Mulled wine. Old family recipe.”

Cassian watched her, and she wondered if he’d sensed the unspoken lie, but he didn’t press, and took a cup. He sniffed it. “What’s in here?”

“Not belladonna,” Nesta tried for a joke. “We only keep that for shitty ex boyfriends.”

Cassian grinned, and it was like a knife in Nesta’s chest. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She nodded to the backyard, where dusk had fallen, and the bonfire was blazing. “Shall we?”

“You sure you’re not going to gut us like fish?” Cassian joked, but Nesta could hear the hollowness to it as they walked towards their siblings, clustered together.

“That’s also just for the exes.” She and Cassian exchanged wooden smiles, and Nesta wanted to scream. She wanted to tell him everything, to throw herself into his arms, to cry, to kiss him...

Rhys’s eyes lit up and reached for a goblet. “Fancy. What is this?”

Feyre looked like she was about to take the drink from him, but Elain swatted her hand, subtly. 

“Mulled wine, old Archeron recipe,” Elain said as Nesta offered the last to Azriel. He glanced at Cassian, who nodded subtly, and accepted the drink.

“So, tell us about Sour-ween,” Cassian said, and Feyre snorted.

“ _Samhain_ ,” She pronounced it slowly, _sow-ween_. “It’s the last of the three harvests of the year. The feast of the dead. It’s a night for remembering, and to welcome in the darker days of winter.”

“Some say,” Elain winked at Feyre and nodded towards Rhys, who was beginning to pale. “The veil between worlds is thinnest this night, and the dead can commune with the living.”

“Darker days of winter,” Cassian muttered, and Nesta didn’t miss his shudder. _He’s afraid of the dark_ , an old memory, the love spell, flashed through her mind, and she shook her head to clear it. Her chest ached.

“So,” Rhys clutched his wine. “How… do you celebrate? You don’t…”

“Sacrifice children?” Feyre leveled her gaze at him, as if to say, _you know better than that_. “That’s so last century.”

“We welcome the night with a bonfire,” Nesta nodded to the blaze before them. “And… an altar. To remember the dead.”

“And a feast,” Elain said. She handed her sisters goblets of their own wine. “But first, a blessing.”

Nesta raised her glass, and waited for everyone to follow suit, chin up, shoulders back, proud. “To our… friends,” she said. “To our family. To the gone, but not forgotten.” _Don’t cry._ “To the slow exhale, the fallen leaves, the harvests’ yield, the barren trees.”

“To the long nights and the hearth’s embrace, the season’s end, the moon’s waning face,” Elain said.

“To the wisdom gained, the battles won,” Feyre finished. “The honored dead, and the sleeping sun.”

The brothers glanced at each other warily, but mesmerized, by the three beautiful sisters, aglow in the firelight. It was as if the Archerons had trapped them under a spell. They felt the air turn electric, almost a warning. But they couldn’t look away from the enchanting Archeron sisters.

“Cheers,” Feyre murmured, and they all raised their goblets to drink.

A sound from the edge of the clearing caught her attention. She turned her head, and dropped her cup with a gasp.

“Feyre, what-” Nesta began, but Feyre raised a hand and shrieked. Nesta and Elain whipped around, and Nesta nearly collapsed.

“Feyre, babe.” That voice, that _voice_ , Feyre stood, rooted to the spot, watching as Tamlin approached. “I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_.”

Cassian and Azriel were reaching for their guns, but cursed when they’d realized they were off-duty, and had left their weapons at the sheriff’s station. Rhys was at Feyre’s side in an instant, standing between her and Tamlin.

“Tamlin Rose?” Cassian asked, studying the man approaching. He looked fairly similar to the photos Vanserra had provided. But something was… off.

Tamlin grinned, his teeth glinting from his unnaturally pale face, unnaturally purplish lips. “In the flesh.” He turned his gaze to Feyre. “Hi babe.”

“This is impossible,” Feyre muttered. “You’re supposed to be-”

“Dead?” Tamlin cackled, his voice like grinding stones, and Nesta winced at the sound. “Guess you’d better check twice before burying a body.” He winked at Nesta. “Thought you’d killed me, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Cassian snarled, “speak to them. Leave, immediately.”

“Or what, sheriff?” Tamlin asked, stepping into the firelight, the bonfire between them. He looked equally unnatural in the light; bruises, cuts and scrapes ringed his neck, his face, his chest. His lip was healing from a cut. His eyes weren’t his normal shade of green, but milky instead, hazy.

“We banished you,” Nesta said, and wished she had Amren’s cross made of rosemary and Devil’s Claw. Or at the very least, a handful of nettle.

Tamlin spread his arms. “Not well enough.”

“You have ten seconds,” Cassian said. Azriel and Rhys flanked him, a human shield between the sisters and Tamlin.

“Or what, you’ll kill me? Didn’t work the first time,” Tamlin said. He flashed another grin. “I’m untouchable.”

Cassian watched in disbelief as the man stepped _into_ the bonfire, walking through it, before stepping out in front of Cassian, unsinged.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Rhys muttered.

“How did he get in?” Nesta whispered to Elain. “The wards?”

Tamlin laughed, and Nesta’s blood went cold. “Broken.”

“ _Leave_ ,” Feyre snapped, and she snatched up the athame, lying on the altar. Elain and Nesta grabbed for her, but were too slow, and Feyre hurtled towards Tamlin.

“Feyre!” Rhys shouted, and he lunged for her.

Tamlin reached Feyre first, knocking the athame out of her hands. He shoved Rhys away, throwing him back fifteen feet, where he crumpled to the ground, and groaned. Tamlin grabbed for Feyre, but she winnowed away, back to Elain’s side.

“New boyfriend?” Tamlin said to Feyre. “Babe, I thought we talked about this.” His face hardened. “We’re not broken up. Not even death do us part, bitch.”

Nesta fisted her hands, her blood felt hot. “We killed you once, we’ll fucking do it again.”

Tamlin laughed. “Not this time; I’ve got a little bit of help.”

Elain began to sing, and vines twitched, roots bursting up through the ground and wrapping around Tamlin’s ankles. He hissed, but when they touched him, they shriveled and dropped to the ground.

“What the _hell?”_ Elain cried.

Nesta felt Cassian at her back. “What the _hell_ is going on?” He asked.

Nesta shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“No, I mean with you-”

“Elain!” Nesta jerked her head towards the Knight brothers, where Azriel was helping Rhys to his feet.

“You need to get back,” Elain called to them. “It’s too dangerous!”

“Too dangerous for _us_?” Azriel cried.

“Get over there,” Nesta growled at Cassian.

“And leave you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said, exasperated. “You’ll only get in the way.”

“This guy’s trying to _kill_ you!”

“He tried before and didn’t succeed,” Nesta snapped. “Now get over there!”

“I’m staying right here,” Cassian said, and Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Moon and sun, sit and stun,” Nesta laid her palm on Cassian’s brow before he could move, and then the spell took effect. He fell to the ground, momentarily paralyzed, just stunned.

“What the _hell_?” She heard Azriel cry.

Nesta faced off against Tamlin, and wished her fyre would cooperate. Since sleeping dormant for so long, when she called, it only stirred. Tamlin swiped at her, she danced away, clutching the athame Feyre had dropped.

“I forgot how fucking annoying you two were,” Tamlin said to Nesta. “Feyre would have been all mine, if it wasn’t for you.”

“She’ll _never_ be yours, never again,” Nesta snapped. “Darkness and light, damnation and might, mighty Hecate will make this right, come to my aid and end this figh-”

“Nice try,” Tamlin said. He brandished a pendant at Nesta, she could see sigils etched in the silver. The spell rebounded, and she threw a hand up, a protection sigil scrawled in her palm with ash. The spell dissipated in a burst of light and heat, and Nesta stumbled back, disoriented.

“Nesta!” She heard Feyre and Elain call. They’d herded Rhys and Azriel towards the house, Elain’s vines wrapping around their limbs to keep them out of the way. The brothers bucked against the vines, and shouted. Elain hummed louder, and the vines tightened.

While Nesta was distracted, Tamlin knocked her down, and her knees hit the ground hard. Moving faster than Nesta expected, he was suddenly beside Feyre, a hand wrapping around her wrist and jerking her away from Elain. When he squeezed, Feyre cried out as the bones in her wrist ground against each other. “You’ve been more trouble than you’re worth,” he growled at her. Before she could winnow, Tamlin clamped an iron bracelet around her wrist. “Thrice cursed, smelted from a hallowed church gate.” Feyre screamed in frustration when her magic fizzled. Iron dulled the senses, and hallowed _anything_ was enough to stop a spell in its tracks altogether.

Elain and Nesta moved as one, Elain launching herself at Tamlin while Nesta scratched a sigil in the dirt with her foot and started grasping at words, pieces of spells.

Tamlin knocked Elain back with ease, throwing her several feet. Azriel and Rhys bellowed, struggling against their bonds.

“Hey, asshole!” Cassian, having shaken off the stupor of Nesta’s charm, was racing towards Tamlin, one of the logs from the bonfire in his hands. The flame danced in his eyes as he brushed past Nesta, and the memory of the love spell struck her again, pangs in her chest. _Fiery eyes_ . _Oh, Cassian, why did it have to be you?_

Tamlin raised an eyebrow. “You, I don’t need alive.”

Nesta’s gut twisted when he raised his hand towards Cassian, another talisman in his fist. This one made of onyx with more sigils, in what looked like dried blood. A killing charm.

“Cassian!” Nesta shrieked, her hands tingling. “Cassian, _get back!”_

Cassian ignored her, swinging the flaming log like a sword in front of him. “I don’t know what the hell you are, motherfucker,” he growled at Tamlin, who seemed delighted to have something to toy with. “But I don’t care.”

“Cassian!” Nesta shrieked. _What do I_ do _? What the fuck are we doing?_ She glanced between Elain, picking herself up off the ground, Feyre, hissing and tugging at the iron cuff, and Cassian, facing off with Tamlin. Her palms itched, her magic tingled. She felt as if she’d swallowed a hornets nest, feeling the magic awaken and hum inside her. _It’s too much..._

Tamlin sighed. “Enough.” He spoke a few words, and the talisman glowed, sigils gleaming. He glanced at Elain and the other Knight brothers. “Don’t worry, you’re next.”

Cassian charged. Tamlin swatted away the log as if it were nothing more than a twig. Undeterred, Cassian aimed a punch at Tamlin, but Tamlin caught his fist with ease, squeezing until Cassian grunted, and then howled as Tamlin shattered the bones in his hand. Tamlin began chanting, the talisman glowing, and reached for Cassian’s heart.

Nesta’s heart, once heavy, now felt like a lump of iron. _“Cassian! Get down!”_

Heat rushed from the pit of her belly, up her arms, and when she extended her palms, and her witchfyre finally erupted forth. She braced her feet and let her magic sing. Cassian dove out of range as Tamlin stumbled back, the flame dissipating before it could touch him.

Tamlin cackled, and Nesta growled. “Didn’t think you still had it in you.” He waved the protection charm at her again. “Back off, witch.”

“Who’s helping you?” Nesta seethed, and shot another blast of flame at him, screaming in frustration when it faded. “Stay down!” She barked at Cassian when he struggled to his feet, cradling his hand against his chest.

“She’ll be here soon enough,” Tamlin said, and began chanting again. “But this is just payback for what you did to me.”

Elain, while trying to help Feyre get the cuff off, hummed, and vines crept around Cassian’s ankles, rooting him to the spot as well. He bellowed, trying to dislodge them, but they held fast.

“Elain!” Azriel called angrily. “ _Damn_ _it_ , Elain, let us help!” He and Rhys yanked at their vines.

“Feyre!” Rhys shouted when Tamlin swiveled back to Feyre, Nesta forgotten. “Look out!”

“Stay out of it!” Feyre snapped. Elain pushed Feyre behind her as Tamlin approached, and Nesta threw another blast of fire at his exposed back.

The flames had no effect, and when Elain began to sing, the roots shriveled and died before they could wrap around Tamlin’s legs.

Nesta raced for her sisters, grasping for their outstretched hands. _Sisters three we always be_ …

“Blood and fire and water and light,” the sisters began. “Mighty Hecate will make this right. Banish this spirit from this night-”

“A banishing spell, how cute,” a new voice said. “It won’t work, you know, not with that cuff on dear Feyre’s wrist.”

A woman emerged from the treeline. She was beautiful, and terrifying. Long, ice blonde hair flapped in the wind, a priestess circlet adorning her brow. Dead eyes, filled with malice.

“Tamlin, my love,” she said. “Let’s hurry this along. We only have so much moonlight.”

Tamlin gave her an adoring smile, and, moving faster than the sisters could track, grabbed Feyre, dragging her away from Elain and Nesta. Elain shrieked and threw a punch, aiming for his face, but with a wave of her hand, the mysterious woman stopped Elain mid-swing. Elain was frozen, a look of fury fixed on her face.

The Knight brothers, still struggling in their bonds, too froze when the witch flapped a hand at them. She didn’t use a sigil, or a spell. No chanting or charms. She was pure power.

“Who _are_ you?” Nesta asked. “What do you want with Feyre?”

“You haven’t heard of me?” The witch said. She held up a hand as Nesta approached. “One more step and I kill your friends.”

Nesta lowered her hands and stood still, fear and anger warring in her chest.

“My name is Ianthe,” the witch said. “High Priestess of Hecate.”

“Never heard of you,” Nesta said. “Give me back my sister.”

“I don’t think I will,” Ianthe shrugged. “Now, you and your sisters can do this the easy way or the hard way.” She snapped her fingers and Feyre cried out in pain as the cuff on her wrist began to glow a dark red, the iron growing hot. “You come with me, and I _won’t_ burn little Feyre’s hand to a crisp.”

Her hands, her beautiful artist’s hands.

“What do you want with Feyre?” Nesta repeated. “With _us_?”

Ianthe’s smile was cold and empty. “Power, dearie.” She swept her hands at the sisters. “When I first saw little Feyre here, I knew she was powerful. But when I saw you three, well…” Ianthe shrugged. “Why have a taste when you can have it all?”

Nesta stared at her. _How the fuck do I get us out of this?_ The brothers were frozen, Cassian’s eyes wide and confused, worried and angry. Elain, fist still cocked back, Feyre, struggling against Tamlin’s inhuman strength…

“How did you find us?” Nesta asked. She jerked her head at Tamlin. “Is this your doing?”

“Of course,” Ianthe smiled. “What better night to raise the dead than Samhain?” she sighed. “I was very put out when I heard you’d murdered my little toy.” To Nesta’s disgust, Tamlin sent Ianthe an adoring look. “And that inspector, while mostly useless, didn’t prove to be a _complete_ waste of time.”

“You sent Vanserra?”

“Of course. _I_ can’t be expected to do the dirty work,” Ianthe snorted. “Enough stalling. Come with me and I’ll let them live,” she jerked her head at the Knight brothers, “and leave Feyre’s appendages alone. For now.” Feyre whimpered as the bracelet glowed hotter. Ianthe waved a hand and Elain unfroze, stumbling to the ground and watched as Nesta rushed to her side.

“Fine,” Nesta said. She nodded at Feyre, squeezed Elain’s hand. _Might Hecate will make this right, banish this spirit from this night, and shield us all-_

The bonfire behind them flared; Ianthe faltered for a moment, the freezing charm slipping, and the Knight brothers jerked into motion.

Nesta could make out two figures in the flames, their shapes as familiar to her as her own face.

“Sorry we’re late,” Mor said as she and Amren stepped from the fire. She raised an eyebrow at Nesta. “I’m hoping our invitations were lost in the mail.”

Amren rolled her eyes. “Don’t even start.”

Ianthe raised a hand. “Back off, bitches. They’re mine.”

“No,” Mor tilted her head, golden blonde hair swinging against her back. Even years later, Mor didn’t look a day over twenty five. “Archeron witches belong to no one.”

Amren and Mor began weaving a spell. The very ground beneath Ianthe began to tremble. The wind pick up, and the fire roared, flames climbing towards the sky.

Ianthe shrank back and snarled. Tamlin gripped Feyre tighter, and Feyre scrabbled against his grip.

“I don’t want to hurt you babe,” Tamlin said, wrenching her arm at an uncomfortable angle. “It always hurt me more than it did you, when I had to keep you in line.”

Feyre looked into the eyes of the monster who once held her heart. “Really? Because _this_ ,” she caught him off guard, her free fist crunching up into his nose. “This feels pretty fucking good to me.” Tamlin bellowed and let her go to clutch his face, and Feyre dodged his answering swing. Her shoulder rammed his solar plexus, her knee into his groin, and when he doubled over, her thumbs went straight for his eyes.

“Bitch! I’ll kill you!” Tamlin cried, blindly reaching for her, blood spewing down his face, but Feyre danced away.

“No!” Ianthe snapped, struggling against the aunts’ spell. “We need them _alive! Get them!_ ”

Feyre and Elain were at Nesta’s side in an instant, clutching hands. Feyre hissed at the bracelet around her wrist. “My magic won’t work!”

“Never mind, dear,” Mor called. “We can take it from here.” A burst of fire leapt from her hands, and darkness, shadowy tendrils from Amren, circling the enraged Ianthe and bleeding Tamlin.

Ianthe cursed. “We’ll come back for you,” she said to the sisters. “And we’ll kill all the rest of you when we do!” She gripped Tamlin’s upper arm, and they were gone in a burst of light.

The yard was silent, an inhale, as if Ianthe had taken all the air with her.

Nesta stared at her aunts. The last time she’d seen them, the back yard was similarly ablaze, her and Mor at the heart of the flames, exchanging fire.

Mor stepped forward, a hand outstretched to her. “We’re home.”

Nesta surprised them all by rushing into Mor’s arms. She surprised herself when she began to cry. Heaving sobs, of relief, of anger, it all mixed together until she didn’t know _what_ she was feeling.

Her heart ached. Her heart ached, but Mor’s motherly embrace made it feel lighter than it had in a long time.

She felt Feyre and Elain, wrapping their arms around her and Mor, and even felt Amren’s small, perpetually cold hand on her shoulder.

Finally, Nesta felt she was home.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Rhys’s voice drew the Archeron witches’ attention, and they turned to find the three brothers still rooted to the ground, mouths agape like terrified fish. “But what the actual fuck just happened?”

  
  



	14. When the Fire's Burnt... You'll Still Find Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! We've veered very off course from Practical Magic's plot, which means I have no idea what will happen next. But, I do include a quote from the movie somewhere in here... anyone recognize it??  
> Thanks as always, for the love and comments. You guys truly make my day.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Dead Man's Pocket, Vudu Sister  
> -Glory and Gore, Lorde  
> -Seven Devils, Florence + The Machine  
> -Heart of Stone, SIX the Musical  
> -Baby Your'e a Haunted House, Gerard Way  
> -I Will Never Die, Delta Rae

_You could try and take us (oh-oh)  
But we're the gladiators (Oh! Oh!)  
Everyone a rager (oh-oh)  
But secretly they're saviors  
Glory and gore go hand in hand_

_-Glory and Gore, Lorde_

_Holy water cannot help you now  
See I've had to burn your kingdom down  
And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out  
I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out_

_-Seven Devils, Florence +The Machine_

_When the fire's burnt  
When the wind has blown  
When the water's dried, you'll still find stone  
My heart of stone_

_-Heart of Stone, SIX the Musical_

Nesta, Elain, and Feyre sat across from the stunned Knight brothers, steaming cups of tea left untouched in front of them. Mor sat at the head of the table, with the grimoire spread open, while Amren rifled through the herbs cabinet.

“You ruined the system,” she snapped to no sister in particular. “The nettle should _never_ be next to the ginger!”

The girls ignored her. Nesta, embarrassed from her outburst, stared into her tea. Feyre held Rhys’s hand across the table, and Cassian watched at the sisters, still slightly in shock, while Azriel and Elain snuck looks at each other.

Mor cleared her throat. “Amren, sit down.”

“There’s too much work to do,” Amren snapped, waving a hand, head still stuck in the cabinet. “A banishing spell, a memory po-” she paused and glanced at the cauldron, its contents now cold. “Well, there’s still some memory potion here, so there’s that.”

“No!” Feyre cried.

“Memory potion?” Rhys asked.

“Amren,” Mor said again, exasperated. “Sit down, for Goddess sake.”

Amren grumbled, slammed the cabinet door shut, and slumped into the chair at the foot of the table.

“Now,” Mor began, sitting back. “I think it’s best we start at the beginning.”

“You can start by telling us what the hell is going on,” Cassian said.

“Who the hell are you?” Amren asked. “Girls, what did we tell you about bringing mortals to the house, especially men?” Her nose wrinkled, as if she’d noticed a foul odor.

“Bit late for that,” Nesta muttered. She looked at the three Knight brothers. Rhys, half terrified. Cassian, fury and confusion warring on his face. And Azriel, unreadable, but shaken.

“It’s my fault,” Feyre said. “This whole thing began because of me.”

“Feyre-” Nesta and Elain cut in, but Mor held up a hand.

“Feyre first.”

“Then we’ll deal with you,” Amren said. “And then you three.” The brothers paled when she flashed her silver eyes and glared at them.

Feyre explained everything to the aunts, from leaving with Tamlin, to the slow transformation within a gilded cage, how he morphed from a man to a monster. How when she cried out for her sisters, they’d answered her call and rescued her. How they killed him and buried him in the earth and came home. The banishing, the investigation, and the ensuing chaos.

“Vanserra,” Nesta hissed. “I should have guessed. How could I have missed it?” She wondered if they should have killed him too; or at least slipped him a memory potion from the start.

“I can’t believe I didn’t See it,” Elain said, head in her hands. “Or _any_ of this.” She glanced at her sisters. “This is _my_ fault.”

“Do we blame the field for suffering a drought?” Mor asked. “Do we blame the moon when the sea rages in a storm?”

“It wouldn’t matter which of your faults it was,” Amren said. “Blaming yourself for another’s actions is to uproot your garden when the weeds have tainted the soil.”

Nesta felt Amren and Mor’s eyes on her. She heard the regret in Amren’s voice, barely noticeable. But it was there. And she knew if she looked at Mor, she’d see it in Mor’s face as well.

“I’m sorry, but what?” Cassian asked, voice rising. “What the _actual_ fu-” he paused when Amren narrowed her eyes, “what is going on?”

“They’re witches,” Rhys said, and flinched when Mor and Amren pinned him with their gazes.

“And how would you know that?” Amren asked, voice icy.

“Me,” Feyre said. “Rhys is my… boyfriend.”

“We’re telling Archeron secrets to boyfriends now?” Mor asked.

“What do you mean _witches_?” Cassian cut in, and glared at Nesta. “You said you were Wiccans.”

“What did you want me to say?” Nesta snapped. “That we’re Hogwarts alumnae? That I got sorted into house Slytherin?”

“Slyther- _what_?” Cassian asked.

“Typical,” Nesta crossed her arms. Of course he hadn’t read Harry Potter.

“What Nesta means,” Elain elbowed her sister, “is that we kept it a secret because it was too dangerous for you to know about us. And you wouldn’t have believed us in the first place.”

“You knew about this?” Azriel asked Rhys.

“Feyre let it slip,” Rhys said.

“What’s this about memory potions?” Cassian demanded. “And how the _hell_ did Tamlin Rose show up, _weeks_ after his body was found _buried_ in the _desert_ ? And _you_ ,” he pointed at Nesta, “can fucking shoot _fire_ from your hands?”

“Yes!” Elain and Feyre high fived an unamused Nesta.

“I knew you’d get your witchfyre back!” Feyre said.

“That was _awesome_ ,” Elain agreed.

“ _What_?” The brothers asked in unison.

“Goddess,” Nesta muttered. She stood, palms against the table and leaned in. “I’m going to explain this _once_ . Yes, we are witches. We fly on broomsticks and cast spells and make potions and every other idiotic quesiton you have about us. We have _no_ idea who that bitch was who showed up, but it’s obvious she managed to resurrect Tamlin, or _some_ part of Tamlin, from the dead. And yes, we killed him.” She locked eyes with Cassian. “I forced an entire bottle of belladonna down his throat, burned down his hotel room, and Elain buried him in the desert.” Azriel reared back, eyes wide, staring at Elain. “We thought we were home free,” Nesta said, “until Vanserra and that bitch tried to ruin our lives. And we have _no_ idea _why!_ ”

“Nesta,” Feyre tugged her sleeve. “Take it down a notch.”

Nesta hadn’t realized she was shouting. She sat down abruptly, and took a deep breath, fighting for composure. She felt Amren and Mor’s eyes on her.

“Well done,” Amren said, praise clear in her voice, so shocking that Nesta whipped her head to look at her. “Very well done, my girl.”

“You-” Cassian choked when Amren glared. “You’re congratulating her on _murder_?”

“On defending herself, there’s a difference,” Amren said. “Not that _you_ would know what that’s like.”

Cassian blinked.

“So what happens next?” Azriel asked, arms crossed. He looked at Cassian. “Do we even have a case anymore?”

“We have a murder confession, and a walking murder victim,” Cassian rubbed his face. “Damn.”

“What about that other witch?” Rhys asked. “She was… scary.”

“Ianthe, High Priestess of Hecate,” Mor rolled the name around in her mouth. “We’ve never come across her before.”

“She said she knew Tamlin,” Feyre said. “And _me_ , or well, of me. Back in L.A.”

“And you didn’t recognize her?” Elain asked.

Feyre shook her head. “Tamlin kept me pretty close to home.”

Rhys’s hand tightened around hers, his face hardening.

“And what about Vanserra?” Cassian finally spoke. “He’s been _working_ with her?”

“He wasn’t there tonight,” Elain said. “Where the hell _was_ he?”

“Does _he_ have magic too?” Rhys asked. “Who _doesn’t_ have magic here?”

“You,” Amren said. “And that reminds me.” She went to the counter, swirled the contents of the cauldron. “There’s enough left for three cups.”

“ _No,_ ” Feyre stood, hands clenched. “We’re _not_ erasing their memories.”

“ _What_?” Rhys, Cassian and Azriel asked.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, in disbelief. “You swore-”

“And I meant it,” she said, over her shoulder, eyes still locked with Amren’s. “We’d never impede on your free will.”

“But-”

“Oh, they tried already,” Amren cackled. “These clever girls cooked up a little memory spell.”

“Stop,” Feyre said.

“Feyre?” Rhys asked. “Is it true?”

“Memory spell?” Cassian whipped his head to look at Nesta. “Nesta?” When she refused to meet his eyes, he spoke again, softly. “Sweetheart, wha-”

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” she said. _I can’t bear to hear you say it._

“I think we’re well beyond memory spells,” Mor said to Amren. “These boys just might come in handy.”

“ _How_?” Azriel asked. “We can’t exactly arrest anyone.”

“You were going to _erase_ our memories?” Rhys asked. “Even after-”

“Vanserra was closing in, the toxicology report came out, and you’d all but figured it out,” Nesta said. Her voice was flat, inflectionless. “We had to make a choice.” Cassian watched, mesmerized as she met his gaze. “I’d rather die than let my sisters pay for my crimes. And I’d rather die before we all got locked up forever. So, yes, we were going to erase your memories, and handle Vanserra. Doctor the report. It was our last chance, and we took it.”

Amren rolled her eyes. “You always were the melodramatic one,” she said. “Betrayal and murder aside, here’s the deal.” She leaned into the table on her hands, and Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys visibly shrank back. “You will not tell anyone about this. Against my better judgement, we are going to let you live, and leave your memories alone. In return, you will help us wrap up this entire mess.”

“Or what?” Azriel asked. “We get buried and resurrected too?”

Amren’s smile was like a blade to the ribs, lethal and sharp. “Only if you ask nicely.”

“Which reminds me,” Nesta said. “Nice of you to finally show up. We’ve been summoning you for weeks. Where the hell were you?”

Amren and Mor glanced at each other.

“Nesta,” Mor said softly. “After everything that happened…” she trailed off. “I - _we_ \- wanted to make amends.”

“Five years _after_ you almost ruined my life?” Nesta asked. “Great timing, thanks!” She flashed them an empty, angry grin, and her face hardened. “It’s a little too late.”

“I know we hurt you,” Mor said. “And we _never_ intended for that. For any of it.”

“Even if Tomas hadn’t turned out to be a monster, I didn’t love being forced to fall in love with him,” Nesta snapped. “But I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? The curse got him too. And he probably only loved me because of your fucked-up spell.”

She ignored Cassian’s shocked glances, but her chest warmed when he turned angry eyes towards the aunts. “You did _what_ to her?”

“Stay out of this, mortal,” Amren snapped.

“No,” Cassian said. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to Nesta?”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” Nesta snapped at him.

“No, you don’t,” Cassian said, still glaring at the aunts. “But you deserve someone in your corner.” Nesta ignored the pang in her chest.

Mor raised her eyebrows. “Who _are_ you?”

“Sheriff Cassian Knight, Azriel, my deputy, and Rhys, our brother,” Cassian said. “We’ve been here since the girls first blew into town, with an investigator hot on their heels. We’ve done more for them than you ever have.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Amren’s eyes began to glow.

“Cassian. Shut. Up.” Nesta grit out through her teeth. “Before you lose your balls, or worse.”

“Yes, or _worse_ ,” Amren said, glaring at him. “Watch your tongue around me. Or maybe you won’t have one anymore.” She turned to Nesta. “And you’re right. There’s nothing we can do to erase our mistakes. But we wanted to give you, all of you, a future.”

“We were looking for a way to break the Archeron curse,” Mor said. “Both of them.”

“Did you find anything?” Elain asked.

“ _Curse_?” Azriel asked.

“ _Both_ of them?” Rhys said.

The aunts ignored the Knight brothers. “We found a few ideas,” Mor said. “But… it’s been unsuccessful thus far. And we didn’t want to return until we had a real solution.”

“That’s impossible,” Nesta said. “The curse is inevitable. It will haunt Archeron witches for centuries to come. Maria Archeron made sure of that.”

“There has to be _some_ hope,” Feyre said. “I refuse to believe there’s nothing we can do.”

Nesta shook her head.

“One problem at a time,” Elain said. “Maybe we put this on the back burner until Ianthe’s taken care of.”

“Agreed,” Mor said. “Shall we begin?” She stood, gesturing for the grimoire. “We’ll need protection spells, wards, Nesta’s witchfyre, maybe some weapons, and the scrying crystal.”

“We don’t have anything of Ianthe’s,” Nesta said.

“But we do of Tamlin’s,” Feyre said. “I think we have some leftover hair from the banishing spell.”

“Leftover _hair?_ For the _what_?” Rhys asked.

“Perfect, where there’s one, there’s the other,” Mor stood. “I think the boys have heard all they can take for tonight,” she said, observing their faces, each twisted in a varying degree of shock. “Lovely to meet you. The girls will sort you out. And remember.” The boys barely suppressed a flinch when she pointed a long, elegant finger at them. “If you tell _anyone_. Well.” She smiled. “Let’s hope you don’t have to find out.”

“Now get out,” Amren said, already digging through kitchen cabinets.

The brothers practically ran for the door, Feyre, Elain and Nesta trailing behind.

"Feyre," Mor called after her, and Feyre turned. "Let's see if we can't get that ugly thing off your wrist."

"It's thrice cursed."

Mor cackled. "So am I." She went into the workroom, and reappeared with a silver wand, vines carved along the sides. "You've always been good with those, my little cursebreaker. Try great-great-great-great-great grandmother Manon's wand."

Feyre stared at the ugly iron shackle, raised the wand, and called to her power, deep inside. "I call upon my ancestors," she whispered. "I call upon my power. I call upon the witches before me." The bracelet grew hot. With the wand, she traced the outline of a crack, imagining the metal was paper and her wand the pen. _My drawings come to life, why wouldn't this be any different?_

She gasped when she felt the metal flare, then screamed when it turned white. She thought as if the bracelet had scorched her flesh, but when the broken halves of the bracelet fell onto the stained wood floor of the kitchen, her skin was unblemished, and she was free.

She was free, and she'd never be under anyone's power, ever again.

"Iante won't know what hit her," Mor grinned. "Well done, Feyre Cursebreaker."

***

Cassian didn’t fight her when Nesta slid into the drivers seat of his car, everyone piling in the back. Exhausted, he leaned his head against the window, and let her steer his car onto the darkened road ahead.

Cassian’s head was spinning. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he saw was Nesta, beautiful and terrifying. Hair flying, palms outstretched, face illuminated in blue fire. Beneath the steely glare, he saw the woman inside: fierce, powerful. Her stormy eyes nearly electrified. They looked just the same that other night, when she moved under him. When they had locked eyes, lips inches apart, he felt like he was coming home.

When he woke up alone that morning, Cassian had wondered if everything had just been a dream, a wonderful, tortuous dream. But he smelled her on his sheets. Found a strand of her hair on his pillow. No note. Just him in a cold bed, with a new aching emptiness in his chest.

He’d buried the ache the past few days, preparing himself for whatever barb Nesta would throw at him on Samhain.

Nothing could have prepared him for how the night actually went.

His hand ached, and he grimaced as the car hit a bump in the road.

Nesta glanced over. “How bad is it?”

“It’s fine,” he grit through his teeth.

She glanced over again, scowling at his hand, swollen and purple. “No, no it’s not.”

“Forget it,” Cassian said. “I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta snapped, turning into his driveway. “Let me-” her eyes flared wide, and Cassian whipped his head to peer out the windshield.

“What the _hell?_ ” He barked, hissing when Nesta braked hard, cradling his hand against his chest.

“Holy shit,” Rhys said, scrambling after Azriel to exit the car, Cassian behind them.

The sisters piled out and stood next to the Knight brothers, watching as their house burned.

The house was lit from the inside, fire spilling out the windows, the roof. The front door was gone; instead, it was a wall of flame and charred wood.

For a moment, Nesta saw the Mandray house ablaze. But this was _Cassian’s_ house.

“Stay back!” A figure stumbled from the side bushes, coughing, and collapsed on the lawn. Red hair gleamed, covered in ash.

“ _You_ ,” Azriel growled, stalking towards him and grabbing him by the collar. Lucien coughed as Azriel hauled him to his feet by his collar. “Did you do this?”

Lucien choked, face smeared with soot, and Azriel gave him a shake.

“Vanserra,” Cassian said. “Did. You. Do. This.”

Lucien nodded, and gasped, wincing when Azriel dropped him to his knees.

“What the hell, motherfucker?” Rhys cried, waving a hand at their burning house, digging in his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling the fire department-”

“There’s not enough time,” Feyre said. “We’ll handle this.”

She reached for Nesta and Elain, and the sisters faced the burning house, scratching a series of sigils into the dirt.

“We call upon the winds and the rain, the forest and the sea,” Elain began. 

“The gale storm and the fire’s bane, the tempest sky, to hear our plea.” Said Feyre.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the moonlight dimmed as storm clouds suddenly rolled across the sky.

“Sisters three we always be,” Nesta finished. “We bind this spell, and so mote it be.”

The Knight brothers watched, looking half resigned and half angry. The Knights, it seemed, were an adaptable sort when it came to the Archeron sisters.

The fire began to sputter and smoke as the rain poured. Nesta’s clothes were soaked within seconds, the velvet clinging to her body like a second skin. Her hair and makeup were ruined, and she shook her head, irritated at the thought. _Now’s not the time._

The flames died slowly, sputtering til all that was left was the scorched brick exterior, collapsing roof, and the smell of smoke, hanging heavy in the air.

“Lucky the house was brick,” Azriel muttered. “The damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

Rhys was already moving towards the rubble. “Still pretty fuckin’ bad.” He heaved what was left of the front door aside, stumbling back, coughing, as smoke spilled out.

Azriel and Cassian were beside him, helping ease the rest of the door open, faces buried in their shirts.

Elain knelt down next to Lucien. “Did Ianthe put you up to this?”

Lucien looked away, and Nesta gripped a handful of his hair, wrenching his face back to them. “Answer her.”

“Yes,” Lucien muttered. “You-” he coughed, “-weren’t supposed to be here.”

“Why, because she’d already killed us, or worse?” Feyre snapped. “Do you have _any_ fucking idea how bad of a night we’ve had?”

Lucien winced. “Please. Let me explain.”

“The only thing we want to hear from you, is an apology,” Nesta said. “Preferably with groveling. And tears. And maybe a way to get rid of this High Witch Bitch.”

“Priestess,” Lucien said, and grunted when Nesta jerked on his hair. “She’s a High Priestess.”

“Don’t care!” Feyre growled, pointing at his legs. “Blood and bone, legs of stone.”

Lucien groaned and fell over, legs immoble. “I deserved that.”

“And a hell of a lot more,” Elain snapped. She leaned in, and when she smiled, Lucien shivered. “But don’t worry. We’ll get to that later.”

Feyre and Nesta watched the brothers stumble through the house, groaning at the damage. The house’s brick exterior had saved it from the worst of the blaze, but the inside of the house still burned.

“How bad?” Feyre called.

“Stay outside,” Cassian yelled, carefully making his way upstairs. “Looks like the roof took the brunt of it. The kitchen’s pretty bad, fuck, upstairs too. Give me a sec, I’ll grab… whatever’s left.”

Rhys ducked out and furrowed his brow when he saw Lucien, motionless on the ground. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Binding charm,” Feyre said. 

“I don’t think we can stay here tonight,” Azriel groaned, hauling half of their smoldering couch out into the yard. “Jesus.”

“Come back with us,” Elain said. “We have the room.”

“ _What_?” Nesta said, but Feyre had already looped her arm through Rhys’s.

“There’s room for sure,” she gave him a wink, and her face softened. “I’m so sorry about your house.”

Rhys sighed. “At least it wasn’t Velaris.”

“About that…” Lucien said. “Don’t, uh, go in tomorrow.”

“The fuck did you do to my bar?” Rhys cried.

“It’s, ah…” Lucien shifted uncomfortably on the ground. “Rigged. To explode.”

“The _hell_?” Rhys lunged for him, but Feyre tugged him back.

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” she said. “It’s been a long night.” She looked back at her sisters and Azriel. “I’m going to winnow us back.”

“He might vomit,” Elain said. “But go nuts.”

“Winnow, wha-” Rhys yelped when Feyre grabbed his arm, shimmered, and winnowed them away.

Azriel stared, wide eyed, and looked at Elain.

“Feyre’s special power,” she said. “It’s like… low-grade teleportation.”

“Can _you_ do that?” He asked.

“I wish,” Elain rolled her eyes. “I’m just a simple forest witch.”

“Simple,” Azriel muttered. “Right.”

“Can you, ah, unbind me?” Lucien asked.

“No way in hell,” Azriel said. “I’d suggest taking him to the station, but I want him close.”

“We have the cellar or the attic,” Elain said. “Rats downstairs, bats upstairs.” She grinned at Lucien. “Your choice.”

Azriel hauled him to his feet and dragged him to the car. “You meant it we could stay the night?”

 _With all my heart_. “Absolutely,” Elain said. She glanced at Nesta. “You okay getting Cassian home, or do you want us to wait?”

Nesta sighed. “Got a broom?”

“In the kitchen, if it didn’t burn,” Azriel said. “Why?” He paused. “You’re not going to… _fly_ home, are you?”

“Unfortunately,” Nesta said, “that stereotype is true.” She sighed. “Go home, we’ll be right behind you. And,” she grinned at Lucien. “For what it’s worth, I’d say he’d be most comfortable in the cellar. Less haunted than the attic. Unless he’d prefer some company.”

She and Elain cackled as Azriel shoved a wide-eyed Lucien into the backseat of Cassian’s car, and drove off with Elain.

 _Well played, Elain_ , Nesta thought. Of course her sister would concoct some way to get Nesta alone with Cassian. 

“Cassian?” Nesta called, gingerly stepping into the house, sleeve pressed against her face.

“Stay back,” he warned, descending the groaning stairs, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. “I don’t know what the internal damage is.”

“I need to check the kitchen,” she said. “I need a broom.”

“I don’t think a broom will fix this mess, sweetheart.”

 _Sweetheart_ , she pushed the heaviness in her heart away. “Then our other option is to walk home. Azriel and Elain took the prisoner back to the house.”

“How will a broom-” Cassian stopped, dropping the duffle bag with a thud. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s even better than a motorcycle ride,” Nesta said, poking around the gutted kitchen, spotting the broom handle… and nothing else. “Follow me,” she grabbed the duffle bag, ignoring Cassian’s swipe for it. “You can have it back when you can actually hold it.”

“My hand is _fine_.”

“Great, here you go,” Nesta dropped the duffle bag strap into his hand, and Cassian grunted in pain, dropping it again. “You didn’t even reach for it with your uninjured hand, you idiot.”

“Is this the thanks I get for trying to save your life?” Cassian snapped, kicking the charred remains of the door behind them as they made their way into the yard.

Nesta spun to face him. “You nearly got yourself killed. You have _no_ idea what you’re messing with.”

“I was trying to help!”

“Well next time, _don’t_ ,” Nesta snapped. “This is way out of your element.” She scraped a sigil in the grass. “ _Over the hills and across the sea, I call for my broom to come to me._ ”

Cassian watched, slack jawed, as her broom fell out of the sky moments later.

“Get on,” Nesta said, looping his bag around her shoulder. “Hold on as tight as you can without hurting yourself.”

 _Don’t think about his arms around you,_ she told herself. _Don’t think about his hands, or his breath against your neck, or_ \- 

“Ready?” She asked, voice husky. Cassian pressed himself up against her back.

“Ready,” he whispered into her ear. And then, they were airborne.

She was right, not that he’d ever admit to her. Flying was even better than a motorcycle ride.

But being this close to Nesta, he truly felt like he was soaring.

The house was silent when they arrived, house groaning, the aunts asleep. The attic thudded faintly, and Nesta could just make out what sounded like whimbers. So they’d gone with the ghosts and the bats after all. She hoped Lucien had as terrible a night as they did.

“Sit,” Nesta gestured to the kitchen table.

Cassian sat without arguing. The flight had calmed him, she thought. He’d squeezed her tightly, chin against her shoulder, silent. He hadn’t been as freaked out as she’d expected, and she was relieved. She didn’t know how much more drama she could handle.

“Tea, for the pain,” Nesta handed him a cup of chamomile and willowbark.

Cassian wrinkled his nose, but drank without complaint.

She gently laid his hand flat on the table, and paged through the grimoire. Luckily, her great-great-great-great aunt Yrene had been a proficient healer, with excellent spells. Broken bones, burns, even internal injuries. She was a master at her craft.

Nesta found a tub of arnica salve to help the healing process, rubbing it gently onto the swollen flesh, and applying an ice compress. Cassian hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” Nesta muttered. “This might hurt.” She traced a sigil in the palm of his hand with crushed rosemary, nettle, and some aloe. “Mending skin and knitting bone, coursing blood and muscle tone, healing wounds from stick and stone, let this flesh be yet regrown.”

Cassian’s grunt turned into a muffled shout as the bones in his hand reset themselves, the skin healing, until it was as if Tamlin had never touched him in the first place.

“You’re all set,” Nesta said, leaning back in her chair, palms pressed to her face. “Goddess, what a horrible night.”

Cassian shook his hand out, marveling at the lack of pain. “I think you fixed the pinkie Rhys broke when we were seven.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Nesta,” Cassian said. He hesitated, then gently pulled a hand away from her face, fingers light no her wrist. “Are you alright?”

She snorted. “It was a clusterfuck of a night to top off a clusterfuck of a month. So, no.” She looked at her hand, still clasped in his. “But I’m sorry about… everything. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to-”

“Remember anything?” Cassian asked. “And carry on, like you didn’t exist? Like _we_ didn’t-”

“Exactly,” Nesta said. “I hated to do it. And I’m sorry we almost messed with your memories. But it was what was best, for everyone.”

“For everyone, or for _you_?”

Nesta shook her head, eyes flashing. “Don’t even start with me, Cassian. We were about go to go jail, and you knew it. It was our last shot at freedom.”

Cassian sighed. “I guess I can’t argue with that.”

“Vanserra was supposed to get some too, but we fucked that up,” Nesta said. “But in the end, it doesn’t really matter, does it? Ianthe was there the whole time. And now we’re well and truly fucked.”

Cassian gave Nesta’s hand a squeeze and let it go, before he did something stupid like pulling her close. He wanted to kiss her, had wanted to since the morning he woke up to her gone. “I guess not.”

Nesta didn’t say anything, and they sat in silence for a moment, before Cassian spoke again.

“So what’s this about a curse?”

Nesta took her time answering. “The Archeron curse has plagued my family for generations. If a man falls in love with an Archeron witch, he dies within weeks”

“Like, in a freak accident?”

“Every time,” Nesta said. “Except for this one lover of Amren’s… they found him in a dumpster with only one ball. But I think that might have been a coincidence.”

“Coincidence, right.” Cassian snorted. “I’m sure it’s a comfort to him.”

Nesta wanted to grab Cassian by the shoulders and shake him. _Run_ , she wanted to say. _Leave. Get on your bike and go far, far away. You can’t fall in love with me, ever…_

“Is that what you think happened to Mandray?” Cassian asked. “It wasn’t a car accident, it was the curse?”

“It _was_ the curse,” Nesta said. “And it’ll happen to every Archeron witch until there’s no more of us. And it would seem Archeron witches are cursed to fall in love with weak, and foolish men. Like Tamlin, and Tomas and even Graysen.”

“Why did you leave the other night?” Cassian asked. “Really. Besides all this.”

Nesta chewed her lower lip, and sighed. “Because you don’t _really_ feel anything for me.”

“I think you should let me be the judge of that.”

Nesta shook her head. “When I was a little girl, I cast a spell. To create my true love, a man who didn’t exist. He would have hazel eyes and was afraid of the dark, was kind, and I even gave him wings, because that way, he wouldn’t be real, and I’d never meet him, and he wouldn’t die because of me.”

“And you think… I’m him?” Cassian leant close, reached for Nesta’s hand, but she pulled away. “Nesta, I’m real. Those are just coincidences.”

“Your tattoos, they’re _wings_ ,” she said. “I thought you were safe. Until you turned your back and I saw them and everything made sense. So I had to go. And you don’t know if your feelings are real, or if it’s just the spell, and I couldn’t face that. Not again.” She wiped at her eyes, and pushed back from the table. “I’m going to bed.”

“Nesta,” Cassian said gently. She lingered in the doorway, turned towards him, and he saw the pain, raw on her face. “Curses only have power when you believe in them. And I don’t.”

“Goodnight, Cassian,” Nesta whispered, and then he was alone in the kitchen, wondering if her heart felt as heavy as his.

***

Azriel lingered awkwardly at Elain’s bedroom door. “Well. goodnight.”

She smiled. “Thanks for your help getting him into the attic.” She tilted her head to look at the ceiling, whispering a few words. A thud sounded above, and an answering shriek. Her smile turned malignant. “That’ll wake the ghosts up.”

“They won’t… bother us tonight, will they?”

Elain shook her head. “No, you’re safe.” She shifted against the doorframe. “I’m sorry about your house.”

“It’s just stuff,” Azriel said. “And a hazard of protecting others.”

“I take it this has happened before?” Elain quirked a brow. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Just one,” Azriel said. “But you’re the first that comes with a resurrected murder victim. That you buried in the first place.”

Elain shrugged. “That’s just a normal saturday night for us. I did what had to be done.”

Azriel laughed softly, nodding, and froze when Elain leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Goodnight,” she turned to her door, but Azriel tugged her back, pressing her up against, and kissed her, breathless.

“Goodnight,” he said, finally releasing her. Elain smiled dreamily, and held his eyes until she’d stepped into her room and closed the door.  
He tilted his head to the ceiling, where Lucien whimpered still. “Take that, assshole.”

***

Despite everything that night, Rhys still wrapped his arms around Feyre when they slid into bed.

“Are you mad at me?” Feyre asked into the darkness.

“No,” Rhys said. “I was. But now… I guess I can understand why.”

She rolled to face him. “It was our only hope. I fought it til I was overruled. I meant it when I promised you I’d never do that.”

“I believe you,” he stroked her hair. “I love you.” It surprised him, but how easily the words spilled from his mouth. “When Tamlin had you, I-”

“I love you too,” Feyre rushed out. “I’m sorry you had to find everything out this way.”

Rhys stroked her cheek and grinned. “The way you took his eye out was awesome.”

“Felt awesome,” Feyre chuckled. “He’ll never hurt me again.”

“No,” Rhys said, pulling her closer. “He won’t.”

***

Ianthe tilted her head to the moon and screamed. Rage, fiery and overwhelming, swept her away, and she howled at the sky.

“We _had them!_ ” She shrieked at Tamlin, who cradled his head in his hands, a bloody bandage over an eye. “They were in our grasp! _Feyre_ was in your grasp! And what did you do? You _let her go_?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Tamlin snapped. “The bitch fought dirty.”

“Then you fight back, and twice as hard,” Ianthe snapped. “Everything is ruined. Those damned aunts of theirs, I had no idea they were that powerful. This poses a problem.”

“What about Lucien?” Tamlin asked. “Can’t he help?”

“Vanserra is dead to me, he’s useless.” Ianthe said, and Tamlin winced. “Now’s not the time for sentimentality,” she growled at him. “He’s as good as dead, if they’ve got him in their grasp.”

“We can get him back,” Tamlin argued. “Lucien’s my _friend_.”

“Too late for that,” Ianthe said. “Our little fox is only good enough to be skinned.”

“What do we do now?” Tamlin asked.

Ianthe shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The plan has changed, but only a little. We attack when they’re least expecting it. Pick them off one by one.”

“And if they’re too powerful?”

Ianthe’s eye flashed, eyes wild. “ _I_ am powerful. They’ll be no match for me, mark my words.”

When she tilted her head to the moon again, her scream wasn’t full of rage. This time, it was unhinged. A warning, echoing through the night.

  
  



	15. Burned but not Buried This Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another chapter! I hope you're all doing well, and thank you so much for the kudos and comments. They're part of why I keep writing. They're all seen and appreciated. Also, here's some Nessian smut!!!! I made the choice to write just Nessian smut for this story because it's a Nessian-centric fic, and that's all I have in me. But don't worry - Azriel/Elain and Feyre/Rhys get some lovin' too. Just off screen. Hope you enjoy! Also, I'm going to be insufferable in my use of Taylor Swift lyrics. Fair warning.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Mirrorball, Taylor Swift  
> -Mad Woman, Taylor Swift  
> -Which Witch, Florence + The Machine  
> -Wicked Ones, by Dorothy

_And it's my whole heart_   
_While tried and tested, it's mine_   
_And it's my whole heart_   
_Trying to reach it out_   
_And it's my whole heart_   
_Burned but not buried this time_

_-Which Witch, Florence + The Machine_

_I want you to know, I'm a mirrorball  
I can change everything about me to fit in  
You are not like the regulars, the masquerade revelers  
Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten  
Hush, when no one is around, my dear  
You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes  
Spinning in my highest heels, love  
Shining just for you_

_-Mirrorball, Taylor Swift_

_And women like hunting witches too  
Doing your dirtiest work for you  
It's obvious that wanting me dead  
Has really brought you two together  
_

_-Mad Woman, Taylor Swift_

Nesta was having a terrific morning. She didn’t normally consider herself to be a sadist, but today, she’d gleefully made an exception.

She grinned at Lucien, tied to a chair in the attic, looking very uncomfortable.

“Sleep well?” She asked sweetly. “You don’t look very well-rested.”

In fact, he looked like shit. His good eye was bloodshot, his other appearing duller than normal. His clothes, scorched and sooty, smelled like day-old bonfire, and his hair hung in tangles.

“Do what you want,” he said. “I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“We’ll see about that,” Nesta mused, walking around him in a circle. “I don’t know if you know this, but you’re not the only one who can light houses on fire again.” She stopped in front of him and grinned. “In fact, I’ve been itching to practice and see what else I can light on fire.”

Lucien inhaled sharply when her hand became a ball of blue flame, and she brought it close to his face. He could see the fire reflecting in Nesta’s eyes, and shuddered.

“Nesta, don’t scar him,” Elain admonished, picking her way across the attic through old boxes and trunks, full of generations worth of junk from past Archeron witches. “At least, not yet.”

“Elain,” Lucien jerked at his bonds. “Look, you have to listen to me. Just let me go. I’ll be out of your way and-”

“And why the fuck would we do that?” Feyre asked, appearing up the ladder behind Elain. “You burned down my, well, _our_ ,” she winked at her sisters, “boyfriends’ house. You rigged Rhy’s restaurant to _explode_ , you’ve been stalking us, _and_ betrayed us to the crazy witch who’s trying to kill us.”

Lucien shrank back in his chair.

“What, nothing to say?” Nesta taunted him by leaning in, waving the flames in his face. “Because I disagree with Elain. I think a scar is the least we can do for everything you’ve done to us.”

“I can’t _tell_ you,” Lucien said. “It’s useless.”

“You can’t, or you just won’t?” Nesta snapped. “I don’t have time for this, Lucien.”

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Feyre said. “Like, he physically _can’t_.”

“You think Ianthe did something to him?” Elain asked.

Lucien squirmed under their gaze.

“Lucien? Did Ianthe do something to you? A charm, a hex?” Elain asked again.

He pursed his lips, but nodded, and jerked in pain when his eye sparked. “Fuck!”

“What is it with this eye?” Nesta mused, bending closer, flames gone to get a better look. “Are those runes carved on it?”

Sure enough, she could see tiny sigils carved along the outside of the eye. “It’s a binding charm,” Nesta said. “You really can’t say anything about this, can you?”

Lucien shook his head, and yelped again when his eye sparked.

“Let’s stop asking him about it,” Elain said.

“Why? I’m enjoying this game,” Nesta said. “Let’s see what else makes him spark.”

“Me too,” Feyre said, leaning in. “Wanna play 20 questions, Lucien?”

Lucien yelped, even though no sparks emanated from his eye.

“He’s terrified,” Elain said. “Fine. What _can_ you tell us?”

Lucien sighed. “It was never supposed to happen like this.”

“What, the murder attempt, the stalking, the possible arrest?” Feyre snapped. “ _None_ of that should have happened, in my opinion.”

“You…” he trailed off, as if searching for the right words, ones that wouldn’t set off Ianthe’s charm. “Let’s just say it was supposed to be quicker, smoother. You were supposed to be scared, and… alone.”

“Alone?”

“The sheriff and his brothers proved to be an unforeseen obstacle,” Lucien grimaced.

“Is that why you asked me to dinner, in front of Azriel?” Elain asked, head tilted. “You think that would have put him off.”

“It would have worked on me,” Lucien confessed. “To see a… rival, make an overture before I could.”

“Lucky Azriel doesn’t live in the Regency era,” Elain said. “And I was smart enough to bring backup.”

Lucien sighed. “I underestimated the Knight brothers.”

“You underestimated _us_ ,” Nesta yanked on the back of his chair, for emphasis. Lucien jerked backwards, wincing against his bonds. “No more cryptic half-truths. What else can you tell us? And it better be good.”

Lucien sighed again. “That’s really all of it, I’m afraid. Ianthe’s bound me too tightly.”

“Then you’re useless, and we’re better off getting rid of you,” Nesta said. She held her hand up, once again ablaze. “Going once. Going twice…”

“She wants your powers!” Lucien cried, and cried out when his eye sparked again, light zipping through the socket. “The three of you - you’re more powerful than she is by herself.” His moan turned to a low keen as his eye glowed, crackling with golden electricity, writhing in his bonds. He slumped when the sparks subsided, panting.

“We’re really more powerful, together?” Feyre asked. “She’s… _afraid_ of us?”

Lucien shrugged, head hanging back against the chair. “Either that, or she’s jealous. Greedy.” He grunted. “Cruel.” He yelped again as his eye sparked. “I’m _really_ getting tired of that.”

“How exactly did,” Nesta gestured to him, “ _this_ happen?”

“That, I _can_ tell you,” Lucien sighed. “I was friends with Tamlin, and he’d tell me stories of his… love life. I knew he had _someone_ at home,” he nodded to Feyre. “But I had no idea how he’d… trapped you. All I knew is he was… protective.”

“Possessive, there’s a difference,” Feyre said.

“Right, of course,” Lucien said. “And he told me he was seeing someone on the side, but I didn’t really pry into it too much. I’d thought you’d had a fight. He started acting strange; out at all hours of the night, dropping by, looking, like, _coked_ out of his mind, or something.” Lucien shook his head. “Eyes wide, always rambling on about a woman he was seeing, a priestess. I thought he just meant she was spiritual, and they did acid or some shit to try and taste the sky. Or, she was in a cult and trying to hook him into it.”

“I do remember him starting to act weirder and weirder, near the end of it,” Feyre said. “It’s why we left - he practically _dragged_ me to the motel, said we had to meet up with a friend, or something.”

“Ianthe,” Nesta guessed.

Lucien sighed. “She probably told Tamlin to bring Feyre to her, but somewhere discreet.”

“Then what happened?” Elain asked. “Before they went on the run.”

“I was concerned for Tamlin,” Lucien said. “And I followed him to meet her one night, just to see what was going on.” He shifted, his eye glinting, but it didn’t spark. “As long as I stay away from any of her current plans, I don’t think I’ll get zapped.”

“Pity,” Nesta said. “Then?”

“When I got there, they were in some woods. She’d given him some sort of drink, waved her hands, the works. And he, _literally_ , fell to his knees for her. Like he was… _worshipping_ her, or something.”

Elain raised an eyebrow, and looked to her sisters. “A love potion?”

“A devotion charm, even,” Nesta said.

“Something like that,” Lucien agreed. “And she ordered him to bring you to her, said she’d met you once, and wanted to see you again.”

Feyre shook her head. “I would have remembered her. Unless…” she shook her head. “I did catch Tamlin, with a woman, once, out and about. But it wasn’t obvious enough, and I just let it go. And he stopped letting me leave the mansion not long after.”

“And she’d managed to size you up,” Nesta guessed. “Somehow, she sensed you were a witch.”

“I was so disconnected from my magic,” Feyre said. “It’s likely I wouldn't have picked up on her, even if she’d cast a glamour then and there.”

“So she caught you eavesdropping on her little kidnap and murder plan,” Elain said to Lucien. “And then she bound you.”

He nodded, lips pursed. “I felt compelled to do whatever she wished, even if it went against everything I stood for. And I think she just liked the power, the company, when Tamlin wasn’t around. I’ve been a prisoner ever since.”

“Boohoo for you,” Nesta drawled. “We’ve been on the run after almost being murdered ever since. And I’m still not convinced you’re sorry enough.”

Lucien hung his head. “I am. Truly. If I knew how to stop her-”

“You wouldn’t tell us,” Feyre said. “Because of her binding charm.”

“Then where do we go from here?” Elain asked. “I don’t think he can give us anything else.”

“We’ll hang onto him for now,” Nesta said. “In case he decides he can handle a little more heat to give us more information. And besides, maybe Amren can work some magic on him.”

Lucien didn’t like the way the sisters all grinned at him. “Who’s Amren?” he asked.

He especially didn’t like the way they cackled, and left him there, alone in the attic, with nothing but the bats and strange bumps and groaning noises for company.

***

Feyre winnowed Rhys to Velaris that afternoon to see if she couldn’t disarm the building before… whatever Lucien had rigged it to do, happened.

“You okay?” Rhys asked her, as she stared at the front door.

“Searching for binding sigils,” she said absentmindedly.

“I mean, from last night,” Rhys said.

“I should ask you the same thing,” Feyre said, running her fingers along the doorframe. “I thought Azriel and Cassian were going to pass out.”

“They wouldn’t admit it, but they were close,” Rhys said. “But are _you_ okay. Feyre, when he had you by the throat-” he broke off. “I felt…”

“I’m fine,” Feyre stepped back and Rhys pulled her to his chest, looking down into her face. “I’m not… afraid anymore. I’m not alone anymore.”

“Never,” Rhys said, bending to kiss her.

Feyre melted into him, his arms soothing her. His touch, so different from Tamlin’s. Rhys held her like she was iron and glass, delicate and fierce. Like he was afraid to squeeze too hard and cause her to break, but finding her unbending instead, and holding tighter.

Rhys pressed her against the door, not caring they were in public, until Feyre gasped as sigils flared around the doorframe.

“Careful!” She cried, spinning to press her palms against the wood. “Luckily, Lucien was sloppy when he did these,” she pulled a silver athame from her bag, and Rhys backed up, eyes wide.

“Relax, it’s not for you,” Feyre said, using it to scratch at the edges of the sigils, breaking the symbols. One by one, the sigils faded until the door was as unremarkable as it was before. “But, just to be safe,” Rhys watched as she cut her palm, smearing blood in new shapes across the frame. “There, that should keep everything safe, even if Lucien fucks with it again.” She grinned at Rhys, digging in her purse for a band-aid. “Hungry?”

“Not anymore,” Rhys muttered, but he let Feyre, laughing, tug him across the street and into Prythian.

“I might be hungry for something _else_ ,” Feyre winked and Rhys raised his eyebrows.

He let his face slip into the lazy smirk that worked wonders on female patrons at Velaris. “I’m _always_ hungry for _that_.”

“After lunch,” Feyre winked again. She pursed her lips, holding Rhys’s gaze, but then, her face crumpled into laughter, and she could hear Rhys’s echo back at her.

And there, in the middle of Prythian, as the patrons stared at them, the weird Archeron girl and the sheriff’s mysterious restaurateur brother, Rhys fell in love. Not with Feyre, the Archeron witch, but with Feyre, the girl with artists’ hands who loved the night sky.

Feyre felt it echo in her bones, as another man fell under the Archeron Witch spell, but this time it was different, for she’d finally fallen in love with a good man.

***

Elain tilted her head, standing beside Azriel as they looked at the ruins of the Knight’s home early that evening.

“Anything salvageable?” She asked.

“Cassian got most of it,” Azriel sighed. “And it’s not like we had much anyway.”

“Please tell me it was insured.”

Azriel’s lip twitched. “Cassian didn’t think we needed it, so I went ahead and got it anyways.”

“Middle children think of everything,” Elain snorted, and grinned when Azriel’s lip twitched. A smile, as far as she was concerned.

“Damn straight,” he said.

Elain began picking her way through the debris. “I’d offer a spell, or something, but… we can only do so much. It’s one thing to fix a book, or a photograph, say. But a whole house… That may be beyond us. And our magic is shit when it comes to electronics and modern appliances.”

“I can’t believe you have the power to even _consider_ that,” Azriel said. “What else can you do?” He grabbed her elbow, steadying her against the uneven, charred ground.

“I see visions, of the future. Only little pieces, but enough to get an idea of what’s going on.” Her face darkened. “I even saw Tamlin coming, and I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together, until it was too late.”

“Really? What did you… _see_ , exactly?”

“A beast,” Elain said. “A dark night. Shadows. And…” when she looked at him again, she smiled shyly. “Three men.”

Azriel watched as her eyes glimmered, turning white, until Elain stared blankly into the distance, like she had that day he found her sprawled on the pavement.

Elain knew these images, she’d seen them before. _Three men, her sisters, a battle, a triumph, stone breaking, eyes crying, a moonlit kiss, roses blooming, warm campfires… laughter. Joy. Hands holding hands. A family._

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying prone on the ground, Azriel cradling her head in his lap.

“Are you alright?” He asked. “This happened before, your eyes… I thought I’d imagined it.”

“Visions,” Elain whispered, raising a hand to touch his face. “This happens sometimes.”

“What did you see this time?”

“Darkness.” Elain said. “Campfires. Hands. A battle.” She traced his jawline. “Your brothers. You.”

“What about me?” Azriel didn’t move, letting Elain’s fingers play over his face.

“You’re always there,” Elain said. “Every vision. Every time.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say to that and just held Elain’s gaze. Joy, panic, hope and hesitation surged through him, electric, alive. 

“Azriel,” Elain whispered. “Kiss me.”

He dipped down, meeting her lips. Elain lunged upwards, clambering into his lap, arms around his neck, getting closer.

“I might have another vision,” she whispered against his mouth. “At home. I see you, and me, and a bed.”

Azriel groaned, pulling her closer.

“Want to see if it’ll come true?” She asked.

Azriel was already up, Elain in his arms, striding back to the car, heading for the Archeron house, and for a vision, becoming real.

***

Although Nesta’s day had started on a high note, it quickly started going downhill the second her sisters took off with their respective boytoys, leaving her alone in the house with the aunts milling about. Cassian was elsewhere, either at the station or gathering his thoughts.

His words from the night before still haunted her, springing to the forefront of her mind, unbidden. _Curses only have power when you believe in them. And I don’t._

 _Ridiculous_ , Nesta thought. _What would a_ mortal _know about breaking curses? Nothing._

As afternoon was giving way to evening, before she could sneak away for her own piece of mind, Mor cornered her in the kitchen.

“Nesta,” Mor said, holding the coffeepot hostage. “Walk with me. We need to talk.”

Nesta sighed and tilted her head to the ceiling. “I don’t suppose you’ll go away until we do.”

“Nope,” Amren said from behind her, and Nesta jumped. Amren cackled. “You’re getting rusty, girl. I used to never be able to sneak up on you like that.”

“Fine,” Nesta muttered, taking the cup of coffee Mor proffered, and made her way to the back door. “Let’s get this over with.”

The aunts trailed Nesta a few paces, until they were comfortably through the clearing and into the trees. This was not unusual for Archeron women; they often found it comforting to be with the earth, among the forest.

“Nesta, here,” Mor said quietly, finding a patch of grass, warm in the waning sunlight. “Please.”

Amren sniffed, arranging her skirts around her legs like an imperious queen. 

Even after all these years, they hadn’t changed. Not their victorian, lacy and billowy dresses, not their long, messily braided hair, not the knowing looks. Nesta suddenly ached for childhood, for her mother, when things were different and she wasn’t yet burdened with things like curses and stone hearts.

Nesta sat across from them, and sipped her coffee. “Alright then.”

Mor sighed, looking at her. “You’ve grown. You look so much like your mother.”

Nesta didn’t respond.

“We want to apologize,” Mor said, voice soft. “We realize now the harm our actions have caused you. And we are so deeply sorry for it.”

“We didn’t intend for this to happen,” Amren said. “To little too late, I know. And I’m not one for trite words. But my dear child,” Nesta didn’t flinch when Amren reached out, uncharacteristically gentle, and tucked some hair behind Nesta’s ear. “If we could go back and change it, take your pain, we would.”

Nesta shifted, uncomfortable, and stared into her coffee cup. “Tomas is dead. The curse killed him. I just wish… I had been strong enough to end it. That night, when I set his house on fire.”

“The curse did not act alone,” Amren said.

Mor nodded at Nesta’s surprise. “We… helped it along.”

“How? I thought you made us promise to _never_ use our powers to take another’s life.” Nesta pushed away thoughts of Tamlin. _That_ , she reasoned with herself, _turned out to be brute force, nothing more._

“We knew something was wrong when we heard of the fire,” Mor said. “And we didn’t… _do_ anything. Maybe we suggested his brakes fail, or his tires blow out. Maybe he decided he didn’t need to buckle his seatbelt that day. And that Mandray boy… we picked him at first, because he seemed nice. He’d look at you in the street like you took his breath away.”

“But now we see it was a mask,” Amren said. “And the monster inside. And that is our mistake, for not catching that. For putting you in danger. And although the spell didn’t make him make the choice to hurt you, his free will was still his, I-” Amren broke off, eyes strangely shiny. “My girl. You and your sisters are more precious to us than the moon. And we are sorry.”

Mor swiped at her eyes. “If I’d known, I’d _never_ have let that happen,” she said fiercely. “Never.”

Nesta’s nose began to tingle. Her throat closed up. _I will not cry. I will not cry._

She sniffed, her breath hitching. Tears, hot and fast, coursing down her cheeks. And then the dam broke.

“I was scared,” Nesta wailed, palms pressed to her face. “And so, _so angry_ .” She pressed a palm against her chest. “I almost expected Tomas to hurt me; but my own _family?”_

Mor and Amren watched her cry, faces stony.

“Dear girl,” Mor whispered, stroking Nesta’s hair back. “Dear, dear girl.”

“We cannot undo what has been done,” Amren said. “But we have been searching for a way to break the curse. No more Archeron women will suffer this way.”

“And give your sheriff a fighting chance,” Mor winked at Nesta, wiping at her own eyes.

“The- _Cassian_ ?” Nesta spluttered. “He’s not-we’re not-“ she stopped. “That can’t happen. _Ever.”_

Mor tilted her head, eyes knowing. “And yet… he’s yours.”

“Cassian isn’t _mine_.”

“He thinks he is,” Amren said. She and Mor cackled.

“I know you don’t want our advice, especially not now,” Mor said. “But that boy is yours, whether you like is or not.”

“Talk to him,” Amren said. “He’s got a spine, unlike the rest of them.”

Nesta looked away. “Cassian and I…” she rubbed at her chest, with her aching heart. “He’s not for me. He’s technically not even supposed to exist.”

“And yet,” Mor said. “He watches you, as the sea watches the moon.”

“What are we going to do about Ianthe?” Nesta asked, desperate to change the subject. “The brothers have offered to help, but I don’t know what they’d do.”

Amren idly twisted grass through her fingers, weaving a crown. “They’re well-built, I’ll give them that.” She looked at Mor. “Muscle?”

“Muscle doesn’t do much in the face of magic,” Mor said. “But they would be a wonderful distraction for her frankenlover.”

Amren made a face. “The sloppiest example of reanimation I’ve ever seen. And she calls herself a high priestess.”

“We also have Lucien,” Nesta said. “Ianthe’s bound him with a silencing charm. He can’t say much, but he can say enough. And,” she leaned in. “He’s spying on us.”

She’d seen the sigil, different from the others on the edge of his golden eye. A Mirroring charm, to hide, and a Spying Eye sigil, carved deeper within.

Ianthe had been spying on them all along, through his eye, no doubt watching their interrogation.

Amren raised an eyebrow. “Then we’d best kill him.”

“Not yet,” Mor waved her sister off. “I wonder… could we use him?”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Nesta said. “Assuming Ianthe still thinks we’re blind idiots, and can’t detect malfeasance, we can lure her here. She’ll do anything we want, as long as we feed it to Lucien.”

Mor and Amren grinned at each other. “It’s time to break out Maria Archeron’s other grimoire.” Mor said.

“I thought we had that already?” Nesta asked.

“Her general knowledge one, yes,” Amren said. “But not her Book of Shadows.” 

When Mor and Amren smiled at her, sinister and ready for battle, Nesta thought once again, _this, this is home._

***

Meanwhile, while Feyre and Rhys were busy falling love in a cafe, and Azriel was learning the curves and edges of Elain’s body, Cassian was wandering the Archeron woods, lost in thought, as dusk fell.

A spell. Nesta had cast a spell, when they were children. He wasn’t supposed to exist, or whatever that meant. _A true love spell… a man who wouldn’t be real, and I’d never meet him, and he wouldn’t die because of me._ _You don’t know if your feelings are real, or if it’s just the spell. And I couldn’t face that._

What did she mean by _that?_

Cassian knew one thing. His heart was his own. And from the moment he’d met Nesta, he’d felt it in his gut. Spell, or no spell, curse, or no curse. He was Nesta’s.

And he didn’t believe in curses, never had. And he wasn’t about to start now.

As if she were a guiding light, he wandered the forest until he found her, with her aunts, brushing grass from their skirts as they turned to head for the house.

“Ah, here he is now,” Amren said.

“Darling, strapping Cassian,” Mor drawled, coming to run a finger down his arm. “We have a favor for you and your brothers.” She glanced at Nesta, who looked like she was torn between running away, and shouting at Mor. “But,” she patted his cheek. “That can wait until later. You two enjoy your walk!”

She and Amren stepped into the shadowy treeline, and then they were gone, like wisps of night. Cassian blinked, rubbing at his eyes, unsure what he’d even seen.

“Lucien’s spying on us,” Nesta blurted. “For Ianthe. We’re going to use him to get to her.”

“Ah.” Cassian rubbed the back of his neck. “I wondered what the yelling was this morning.”

“Interrogation,” Nesta said, and Cassian laughed.

“Not surprised. Maybe we’ll hire you at the station. You can be the bad cop.”

Nesta cocked a brow. “Is this implying you’re the good cop?”

Cassian grinned. “That’s Azriel. I’m just around.”

That got a lip twitch from Nesta, which he considered a victory.

“Nesta,” Cassian drew closer. “What did you mean, my feelings aren’t real?”

“I told you,” she snapped, frustrated, but there was no venom in it. She began walking aimlessly down the trail, Cassian behind her. “This spell, I cast it years ago. It’s not supposed to be real.” She didn’t look at him. “I won’t lie. I… I feel…” she trailed off. Cassian watched her back stiffen. “You don’t have to… feel, for me,-”

“I know what I feel,” Cassian said, behind her. He reached for her hand, pulling her to a gentle stop, turning her towards him. “Nesta. Curses, spells,” he shook his head. “Three weeks ago, I didn’t believe in any of that shit. Three weeks ago, all I knew was you were brilliant, and terrifying, and beautiful.” She looked away, but he turned her chin with gentle fingers, to look into her beautiful, stormy eyes. “And I knew, in my gut, with my superpower, that it was real. I know what’s a lie, and this,” he tugged her closer, slipping his arm around her waist. “Is not a lie.”

Nesta wanted to push against him, to tell him he was wrong, that she’d trapped him and condemned him to a short life of misery. But when he kissed her, it all flew from her mind.

She sank into him, fisting his shirt, his hair, remembering the feel of his skin on hers.

She wanted him. She wanted everything; the nights, the mornings. Cups of coffee in the morning and arguments over lunch and heated looks at night, playful nudges and laughter. Warm arms to hold her in the dark. She wanted to feel safe. She wanted to come home.

She wanted to be loved.

“I-” she cut herself off, and kissed Cassian again. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t.

Instead, she cast a circle of fire around them, as the sky was turning from dusk to dark. Cassian watched, in awe, as the flames rose and fell with her inhales and exhales, at her silent command.

“You’re amazing,” he said, pulling her to him. “And terrifying.”

Nesta laughed, and before she lost her nerve, before her common sense, her fear, kicked in, she pushed him to the ground.

In the rising moonlight, with the warm flames around them, her power stirring, humming in her veins, she felt desire, warm in her core.

“Nesta, wha-” Cassian jumped when their clothes disappeared. “How did you-”

Nesta cackled, pushing him to his back. “Witchcraft. Witches have been doing this for centuries, they pick up tricks along the way.”

She straddled him, stroking his shaft, and he tilted his head back, gasping. “ _Nesta-_ ”

They groaned in tandem as Nesta sank on him to the root. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest and began to rock her hips after a moment, adjusting to the feel of him.

She felt brave, and breathless. Selfish and safe. Eager. Free. Freer than she’d been in a long time.

Cassian watched her move above him, stunned. She was beautiful in the growing moonlight; her hair spilled down her back and around her shoulders, clinging to her breasts. Cassian reached to touch one, run his finger over her nipple, watching the bud tighten. She felt… otherworldly. When she sank onto his cock, his eyes rolled back in his head at the warm, wet friction. He cupped her ass in his hands, helping her rocking motion against him, like the ocean, pulled by the moon’s tide. Her eyes met his, hooded and filled with lust, and held his gaze. Those eyes, stormy blue, captured him, enveloped him, until all there was was her.

Spell or no spell, she was in his mind, his blood.

_His heart._

_I love you,_ he thought, suddenly, as Nesta arched back, keening as she came, rippling around his cock. He pulled her close, kissing her. He pinned her to his chest and anchored her in place with a hand at her waist, holding her down as he thrust upwards into her.

“Cassian!” She moaned, rocking her hips against him.

“Come on sweetheart,” he gasped. Everything had narrowed down to Nesta, her smell, her skin, her pussy. “Nesta.”

She panted, moaned. Dropped her head to his chest and drove her hips back. “Cass…”

He jerked his hips, drove himself up into her and spilled into her, clutching her like he couldn’t get close enough.

Nesta stilled, panting, her face pressed against his sweaty chest. “Oh my Goddess,” she whispered. “That was…”

“You’re welcome,” Cassian said, and she lifted her head to glare at him, but there was no venom behind it.

The moonlight caught her eyes, and his breathing nearly stopped. Nesta’s eyes glowed, softly. Her skin had almost a translucent shine. Her face was serene, beautiful. This woman had power, he could sense it.

“You’re incredible,” Cassian murmured, stroking her waist. She tilted her head down, meeting his eyes. She touched his face, palm cool against his heated skin.

“Come here,” he whispered, pulling her down against his body, wrapping her in his arms.

 _I love you,_ he whispered, so quietly, his words were lost on the wind.

But Nesta felt them, nonetheless. And she closed her eyes, willing the words inside. _I love you too._

And in her heart, the tiniest crack crept across the black stone that shrouded her heart.

***

“Let’s go over the plan, one last time,” Nesta said to Feyre and Elain, standing outside Lucien’s prison door, a few hours later. She’d filled them in on Lucien’s little secret, choosing to ignore the flushed look in Elain’s face, the dreamy one in Feyre’s, and hoped they ignored her own, no doubt disheveled, appearance in return.

“We tell Ianthe I’m powerless,” Feyre said.

“We stage a fight, so Feyre gets kicked out of the house,” Elain continued. “Alone. At night. In the dark.”

“We lie in wait, with Maria’s Book of Shadows, the guys with iron and salt,” Nesta finished. “And end this bitch.”

The Knight brothers had been perplexed, to say the least, but ready for a fight. They’d taken up their salt and iron and rosemary like warriors, preparing for battle. It was almost adorable, the determined look on their faces.

“Damn straight,” Feyre held up her hand for a high-five. Elain obliged, while Nesta rolled her eyes. She high-fived Feyre, nonetheless.

“Let’s do this,” she said, opening the door. “Who’s ready to start a fight?”

***

Ianthe watched through Lucien’s eye as Nesta and Elain closed in on Feyre. Hands waving, shouting. Feyre, hands up placatingly, the iron bracelet heavy on her wrist. Tears, streaming down her face.

“Get _out_ !” Nesta roared, pointing to the door. “You’re out, tonight! And don’t even fucking _think_ about coming back!”

They were kicking her out… interesting.

Ianthe smiled at Tamlin, dead eyes gazing at nothing.

“I think we’ve just had an opening, lover,” she said. “Feyre Archeron is no longer under the protection of her sisters.” She grinned, teeth sharp. “We strike in a few hours, just as the moon will reach its zenith in the sky.”

Tamlin’s own grin was bone-chilling. “Feyre,” he said, to no one in particular. “You’re mine.”

“When I’m done with her,” Ianthe reminded him. “But don’t worry.” She ran a hand down Tamlin’s chest. “I’ll leave her alive. Just for you.”

  
  



	16. Keep the Spirit Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back. This chapter feels like a huge mess, a lot's going on (hooray for first drafts and then posting without editing, amiright??) Anyway, thanks again for all of your love and support, it really does keep me going and prevents me from lighting my laptop on fire when I'm trying to write a difficult chapter like this one. Hope you're well! You guys are the best readers a girl could ask for.
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Glory and Gore, Lorde  
> -Blood Teachings, Esben and the Witch  
> -Drawn to the Blood, Sufjan Stevens  
> -Wolf, First Aid Kit  
> -Witches, Blackbird Raum

_I think I'm beginning to hear the teachings of my blood.  
It whispers a murmur, a trickling fervour...  
I'm full to burst ,exploding into pieces!  
All aglow, in love! The flesh! The spirit!  
Burn bright! Glow hard! Be incandescent!  
_

_-Blood Teachings, Esben and the Witch_

_Holy light over the night  
Oh, keep the spirit strong  
Watch it grow, child of war  
Oh, keep holdin' on  
_

_-Wolf, First Aid Kit_

Maria Archeron’s Book of Shadows was nothing like her grimoire.

Mor had led her to the workshop, producing a silver key she’d kept on a chain around her neck. At the back of the workshop stood a wooden armoire, which she and Amren had kept locked for as long as Nesta could remember. She’d asked, once, mustering up the courage, if Amren would open it for her. Amren had shooed her away, face stormy. Nesta had never asked again.

Inside, was a wooden box, lined with black velvet. And inside…

Mor lifted out the Book of Shadows with reverence, gently laying it on the wooden book cradle on the workbench. She pricked her finger, and pressing her palm against the black leather cover, she whispered to it.

“I, the Morrigan of the Archeron clan, call upon the spirit of Maria Archeron, first witch of our line. I call upon your guidance, your wisdom, and your magic.” She nodded to Nesta, who also pricked her palm, pressing it against the cover.

“We bind this spell,” Nesta said. “So mote it be.”

The book grew hot underneath her palm. It was bound by two strips of leather, one at the top and at the bottom, with no seam nor lock to be found. With a gentle flash of light, the strips unwound, and the book fell open.

Instantly, Nesta knew this book was different than the grimoire. Where the grimoire felt comforting, safe, with notes scribbled in the margins of recipes and spells in the script of many Archeron witches, this was nearly blank, each page pristine, untouched. This was not a book for casual use; this was not a book for sharing.

“If Ianthe is going to fight us with dark magic, then we need to fight back,” Mor said. “Or protect ourselves against it.” She nodded to the book. “Maria cast many curses in her lifetime. Ours is just one of them.”

Each page was a new magical horror. _A Spell to Drain an Enemy’s Blood from his Body._ _A Spell to Steal a Man’s Breath._ _A Spell to Sever a Man’s Appendage. A Spell to Stop a Man’s Heart._

“She really hated men,” Nesta said.

Mor quirked an eyebrow. “Her entire village of men _did_ try to hang her for adultery, witchcraft, lechery… nevermind they were the ones she was doing most of this _with_.”

“I do suppose they earned her wrath.”

“That and more,” Mor said. “She laid the curse upon her line to protect us from men like that. For they were all in love with her, and yet they still turned on her, one by one.”

 _Maria_ , Nesta thought. _What pain you must have felt._

“Here,” Mor said, flipping through. “A Spell to Protect Against Dark Artificing. And… here,” she flipped again. “A Spell for Enduring Fire.”

“I have that,” Nesta said. “My witchfyre.”

“This way, your fyre can’t be counteracted. The flames won’t die, no matter if you run out of power or what spell she throws at you.” Mor paused. “Well, to a point. If you burn through too much magic, you’ll have to release the spell, or it’ll fizzle out on its own.”

“I’ll take that chance,” Nesta said.

Mor hesitated, finger in another page.

“What is it?” Nesta asked.

“There’s a killing spell,” she said. “A Spell to Burn A Witch.”

Nesta crossed her arms. “Killing another sister is forbidden, regardless of coven affiliation, friend or foe.”

Mor tilted her head. “You know things are never so black and white. And Ianthe obviously has no qualms about it. Retaliation is within our rights.”

Killing Tamlin, a mortal, a man, no less, was one thing. But another witch…

“She’ll be hard to kill,” Nesta said.

“Most vicious things are,” Mor said, and winked. “But never impossible. Maria certainly figured it out.”

“I’d hoped I would never have to take another’s life, again.”

“Your sisters will help you,” Mor said, hand on her shoulder. “And may Maria’s spirit guide you.”

***

Feyre shivered in the dark. The iron bracelet, broken, still sat uneasily against her flesh. She stood in the backyard with Rhys, watching the house, lit up from the inside, a beacon against the chilly night.

“I still don’t like this,” Rhys said. “What if she’s too strong?”

“You’ll have to trust us,” Feyre said simply. “You have the salt, the iron, the rosemary?”

Rhys hefted the small burlap bag Amren had shoved at him. “Ready to form the circle, when she gets here.”

“Then I’ll be fine.”

Cassian and Azriel were stationed just past the treeline, at opposite ends of the yard. They were good at blending in; Feyre could barely see them against the dark blur of the forest. They’d been tense as well, unsure of the plan. Elain had pressed a kiss against Azriel’s cheek and whispered something in his ear; he’d relaxed, but only barely. 

Cassian had held Nesta’s gaze when she handed him his bag, and he’d cupped her cheek in his palm, sliding his hand through her hair. Stunning her sisters, Nesta turned her face and kissed his palm, and carried on, as if nothing had happened.

Azriel and Rhys had hauled Lucien to the backyard, still tied to his chair, and there he sat, shivering in the middle of the clearing. They’d blindfolded him for good measure, so if Ianthe were spying, she wouldn't be able to see anything.

“What is the rosemary for?” Rhys whispered, as they stared at the moon.

“Protection,” Feyre said. “The usual.”

“What does it… _do_?”

“It enhances spells,” Feyre said. “Makes them more powerful.” Rhys still stared at her. “It’s magic,” Feyre said. “I don’t have time to get into magic theory or herb dynamics, but… another time.”

Rhys laughed. “Can’t wait.”

The moon was nearly right above them, and Feyre turned to Rhys, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s time. Get in position.”

He nodded, slipping into the darkness, to create a perimeter around the yard with his brothers.

A flash of fire; Nesta, signaling she was ready, with the Book of Shadows. The moonflowers in the garden bloomed; Elain was ready as well.

Feyre crossed her arms, looked up at the moon, and waited.

The air was still. The Archeron witches and the Knight brothers barely dared to breathe, to look away. Feyre thought she could hear Rhys’s heartbeat, faint, even from so far away.

The thought of seeing Tamlin again made her palms itch with magic, her fingers curl. She recalled how it felt when she dug her thumbs into his eye sockets. She wondered what it would feel like to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze.

And Ianthe… She’d seen the murderous look in Nesta’s eyes, Ianthe was hers to fight. And Lucien… well, Elain seemed eager to punish him as well, for his compliance, Feyre’s mistreatment. For the fear he’d caused her, and her sisters.

As the moon reached its zenith, there was a flash of light, tinged with dark green, and Ianthe was there, Tamlin beside her.

 _It’s time,_ the air seemed to whisper. The grass around Feyre’s feet tensed, Elain’s power rising.

“Ianthe,” Feyre said, trying to make her voice sound pitiful, sad. “Why won’t you leave us alone?”

“You have something I want,” Ianthe said, closing in. Feyre watched shapes move in the distance. The Knight brothers, sprinkling salt, trapping them all in a large circle. Ianthe eyed Feyre’s bracelet. “And I’m not leaving until it’s mine, and neither are you.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” Feyre pleaded, trying to sound afraid. “Please. Just leave us _alone_.”

“Unfortunately, pet,” Ianthe said, drawing closer. Feyre clenched her fists, standing her ground. “It isn’t that simple.”

Tamlin, in step with Ianthe, suddenly lunged, and Feyre’s scream was one of real terror, echoing through the clearing.

***

Nesta spread the book on the grass, staring down at the spell. _A Spell to Protect Against Dark Artificing._

It needed blood, more blood than any spell she’d performed. The Archeron sisters and their aunts had spilled their blood into a basin hours before, and Nesta had traced sigils onto their skin. Their hands, their arms, their faces. The Knight brothers too received sigils, just in case. Cassian had stood still, receiving the marks like a man preparing for battle. She’d allowed herself half a moment, trailing her fingers down his jawline, affectionately. His eyes, warm, watching her.

Azriel and Rhys had balked when she came at them with her crimson fingertips, but a glare from Nesta settled them, and they permitted her to trace the shapes, stiff, and more than a little grossed out.

Nesta snapped her fingers and a ring of her fire flared to life, encircling her in its blue, protective light. With Mor and Amren ready to square off against Ianthe, backing Feyre up, she bent her head to the book and began the spell.

Nesta took the basin of blood, mixed with salt and rosemary, earth from the garden and bones from the old family guard dog they’d buried and then dug up, for extra protection.

“I call to the east, to the west, to the north and south,” Nesta began, and the wind began to rustle the leaves. “I call upon the earth and the wind and the sea and the flame. I call upon Archeron witches past.” She poured the basin’s mixture into the flame before her. “I name you, Ianthe, High Priestess of-”

Feyre’s terrified scream interrupted her.

Nesta, watching Tamlin jump for her sister, opened her mouth to scream, but Elain was already in motion.

Vines rose, circling for Tamlin’s legs, shriveling when they touched him. He laughed, and so did Ianthe, watching Feyre dodge his grab.

“Come out, girls,” Ianthe said. “You’re no match for me. Let’s get this over with.”

“Fine,” Mor said, stepping out of the shadows. “I’ve been itching for a good fight.”

Ianthe narrowed her eyes. “So have I.”

Distracted by Elain and Mor, Ianthe missed Amren slinking up behind her, and Tamlin, lunging again for Feyre, didn’t notice the vine hovering an inch off the ground. Tamlin stumbled, and from the darkness Rhys emerged, barreling into Tamlin and sending them sprawling to the ground.

Feyre and Amren pounced, binding his wrists with braided cords of Feyre’s hair, and slapping the fragments of the broken iron bracelet around his wrist.

Tamlin shouted, jerking against the bindings, growling, grappling against Rhys. “What the fuck-”

“Nothing traps you like a lover’s memory,” Amren cackled. “He never got over you, Feyre.”

Feyre laughed, ripping open the back of his shirt.

“Feyre,” Tamlin snarled, thrashing. “You can’t _do_ anything to me, honey. Ianthe’s got me warded against any of your tricks.”

“This isn’t a trick,” Feyre said, and pulled a small jar of dirt from her pocket. Amren scraped a circle around them, and Feyre began painting Tamlin’s back with dirt.

Tamlin screamed bloody murder when the soil touched his skin.”What the _hell is that?”_

“Graveyard dirt, you ghoul,” Feyre grinned. “Consecrated.”

“Ianthe!” Tamlin wailed as Feyre traced more soil down his back, leaving behind deep red gashes.

Ianthe barely spared him a glance. She set her gaze on Elain. “There’s you, and there’s your sister,” she mused, scanning the yard. “But where’s the eldest?”

Nesta shrank back in the darkness, watching Ianthe from the grass like a snake, flames smoldering. A rustle, then Cassian was crouched beside her. “The circle’s done,” he whispered. “What now?”

Nesta watched Azriel appear from the treeline, eyes on Elain, iron dagger held loosely in his hand. Amren had grinned when she procured the weapons, handing one to each brother. _“Mortal or not,” she’d said, “you’ve all got a warrior spirit.”_

“Now,” she surprised herself when she said, “I need your help.”

“Don’t you need another,” he faltered, “ _witch_?”

“I have the spell covered, but I need some practical help.” Nesta jerked her head at a basket of assorted supplies she’d brought with, laying beside the Book of Shadows. “I’m switching spells. I have to put this on pause.” She started flipping. There, A Spell for Enduring Fire. “I need the cinnamon sticks, some thistle, a pinch of fennel, and the sunstone-”

“Nesta,” Cassian said, rooting through the basket. “Sweetheart, hold on, what the fuck does thistle look like?”

“The jars are labeled,” Nesta said, clearing a spot in front of her and lighting a votive candle in a bowl with her magic. “Cinnamon for fuel, thistle for cleansing, fennel for protection, and blood,” she pricked a finger over the candle, drops of blood sizzling in the flame, “to bind.”

“Damn,” Cassian muttered, grabbing jars at random and squinting at the labels, “I never knew there’d be so much _blood_ in witchcraft.”

“Squeamish?” Nesta teased, snapping her fingers. “That jar, yes, and - not that one, _that_ one.” Cassian juggled jars, dropping them into her outstretched palm.

She shook fennel and thistle out of their jars, crushing them in her palms, snapping the cinnamon stick in half. She dropped the ingredients into the bowl with the candle, and pulled a slender wooden wand out of the basket, alder for strength and power.

Cassian watched as Nesta closed her eyes, taking a breath to center herself. She felt his eyes on her, half-awed, half-wary. Full of admiration, warm, settling around her like a blanket.

She picked up the sunstone in one hand, wand clutched in the other. “Blood and iron and sunshine and light, light me a fire for this night. I ask for a flame without an end, to burn from spark and blaze again.” She waved the wand in careful sweeps, the candle flame rising higher with each pass. “In this hour of great needs, in my veins fyre bleeds.” She swept the wand along the length of her body, clutching the sunstone. “Let Archeron blood become Archeron flame, all shades and shadows mine to tame.”

Cassian choked back a yelp as Nesta’s palms began to glow a steady dark blue. She dropped the wand and stone, hands clutched to her chest. Her hair began rippling in the wind, and her eyes, no longer cloudy gray, were now a vibrant, electric blue.

Nesta rose, palms out, and flame erupted forth, streaming from her hands. When she opened her mouth, a battle cry emerged, more flames spurred onwards from her tongue.

Ianthe, twisting away from Mor and Amren, looked stricken. Then she spotted the Book of Shadows, lying discarded in the grass.

“Finally, the true extent of an Archeron’s power,” she said. “And a nasty trick up her sleeve.”

Cassian watched the candle in the bowl flare and Nesta advanced, drawing her power from the talisman.

“Get off the property,” Nesta snarled. “Take your toy and get _out_ of our lives.”

Ianthe tilted her head, holding her ground until Nesta shot a blast of flame at her feet. Ianthe danced away, letting Nesta corner her back towards the trees.

“Or what?” She sneered. “You’ll run out of witchfyre sometime.”

“I just have to outlast you.”

“Fine,” Ianthe snapped back. “If we’re going to play dirty, then that’s what we’ll do.”

She stretched a hand towards Lucien, still bound to his chair in the middle of the clearing. “I call thee, enspelled one, obey me more than anyone, seven times I pierced thine eye, and now you feel the magic cry, bind thy body and mind to me, as I do will, so let it be.”

Lucien cried out, his eye flaring, as he thrashed in his bonds. Elain, a song at her lips, began winding vines around his torso, but with an agonized cry, Lucien ripped from the rope and vines, and collapsed on the ground. Elain reared back, eyes wide, staring in disbelief at his now torn sleeves and raw and bleeding arms.

Ianthe laughed, drawing a poppet from her pocket, waving it at Lucien. He stood jerkily, and lunged towards Elain. Azriel was at her side in an instant, dagger raised.

“Lucien, my little fox,” Ianthe called, dangling the poppet. “Kill them.”

Lucien grunted as he lunged forward again, as if fighting an invisible opponent. “Run,” he gasped at Elain. “I-she-”

“What’s happening?” Azriel asked, herding Elain back towards the house.

“A poppet,” she hummed, and stalks of grass twisted around Lucien’s ankles. He tore through them like paper, “essentially gives the user full control over the victim. Lucien won’t stop until she says so.”

“Here, Lucien my love,” Ianthe snapped her fingers, and a long knife appeared in his hands. “Bring me her heart. An Archeron heart,” she licked her lips, “is a powerful thing.”

When Lucien lunged forward, face contorted, Azriel was there, meeting Lucien’s swipe of his knife with the dagger.

“Elain, get _out of here,_ ” Azriel ordered. His sigils glowed faintly, and Lucien’s knife missed its mark. “ _Now!”_

“No!” Elain snapped, fists on her hips, humming quickly becoming song. “ _Thistle, nettle, thorn and petal, burn and sting, as I sing_.”

Lucien cried out as a patch of nettle twined around his leg, ripping through his pants, up his bare arms, but again, as soon as it touched his flesh, it withered and died, like with Tamlin.

‘She’s got some kind of charm on him, damn it,” Elain muttered. “Azriel! I need you to distract him!”

“I need _you_ to get out of here,” Azriel snapped, as his dagger and Lucien’s met with a sharp clang that rang through the air.

Elain rolled her eyes. _Goddess deliver me from ‘heroic’ men._

“Please don’t hurt me,” Lucien panted, groaning as his arms flailed, striking out at Azriel again. “I can’t stop!”

“I’ll do what I have to do,” Azriel said, ducking and returning the jab.

“Are we done with this ridiculous charade?” Mor asked, as she and Amren advanced towards Ianthe. “This is your final warning. Get off the property, or,” Mor nodded back towards Nesta, awash with flame, waiting for Ianthe to make a move, “Nesta turns you to ash.”

“You wouldn’t kill another witch,” Ianthe sneered. “You’re too afraid of coven law.”

“I’m not afraid of revenge,” Nesta called. “You’ve caused us enough pain, I think we can collect our dues.”

‘Bring it,” Ianthe sneered. “I’ll have your heart before daybreak. You can’t kill me, you don’t have the power.”

Nesta shot a bolt of flame at her, which Ianthe deflected easily. SHe cackled. “Is that all your pathetic spell could create?”

Mor and Amren, locking hands, began to chant. Ianthe whirled on them, grasping at one of her many necklaces, breaking it and dropping it to the earth. “Arise, arise, of mud and loam and soil and clay, arise arise, my soldier, you’ve enemies to slay.”

A creature made of shadow and dirt rose from the broken shards of her necklace. Gleaming red eyes in a translucent face, a shadowy body, shaped like a warrior, a sword of hard clay in its hand. Eyes fixed on Mor and Amren, it let out a terrifying roar and leapt toward them.

“A shadow-soldier,” Amren hissed. “Nesta, blast it!”

Nesta let out two blasts of flame, but with the aunts distracted, Ianthe was making her way towards Feyre.

“Feyre!” Nesta cried. “Mor, Amren, you have it?”

Mor cracked her neck. “I’ve been waiting to practice my hand to hand.” With a whisper, a sword shimmered into her hand, and she squared off against the shadow-soldier, Amren at her back.

Nesta knelt, flipping frantically through the Book of Shadows. She was out of ideas, and of its own accord, the book fell open to the Burn the Witch spell. _Maria, if you say so_. “Cassian, I need, damn it, Devil’s Claw, the tincture of aconite and marigold, the bottle of myrrh, sea salt, the rowan wand-”

Cassian dumped the contents of the basket onto the grass and squinted in the darkness, reading labels. “Sorry, _aconite_?”

“Monkshod, wolfsbane,” Nesta rattled off, fyre forgotten. She could still feel it, simmering inside, waiting. “It’s another poison.”

 _Of course she knows multiple poisons,_ Cassian thought, still scrabbling through bottles and jars.

Feyre stood, hands fisted, watching Ianthe approach. Rhys still had his knee in a thrashing Tamlin’s back.

“He really did love you, you know,” Ianthe said, as if they were having coffee at Prythian. “In his own fucked up way.” She shrugged. “But I suppose he just loved me more.”

“You can have him,” Feyre spat.

“I want _you_ , my dear,” Ianthe flicked her wrist, and Rhys flew back, sigils sparking. She flicked her wrist again, releasing Tamlin’s bonds, and he sprang forward, grabbing Feyre roughly by the hair and jerking her back.

Feyre shrieked, kicking back and Ianthe advanced. “Hold still,” Ianthe mused. “I think he wants to pay you back for last time. You know,” she grinned, “an eye for an eye?”

Feyre’s shriek of rage and terror echoed in Nesta’s ears. She moved before she realized, dropping the book back to the earth, palms out again. “Feyre, DUCK!”

Feyre slithered down against Tamlin’s body as Nesta unleashed her fyre. Tamlin howled and let go of Feyre as his hair caught flame, and then his clothes, his flesh, Nesta’s fire unrelenting. She saw Feyre crawling towards a winded-looking Rhys. The candle in its bowl, left over from the spell, was quickly melting. She had just enough left to finish Tamlin, just one more blast of flame, and then she’d finish Ianthe-

It was a trap, Nesta realized belatedly, as she bathed a writhing Tamlin in fyre, noting Ianthe was suddenly absent. _Where is she?_

“ _Nesta!_ ” Cassian cried behind her, sounding strangled. “ _RU-”_

His shout cut off, and Nesta whirled, as if in slow motion.

Ianthe was there, a hand around his throat, sigils sparking uselessly against her palm. She cackled. “A weak spot, Nesta?” Cassian choked as her hand tightened. “A word of advice, witch to witch,” Ianthe said, “if you want to be a truly wild, truly powerful witch, you can’t afford _any_ weak spots.”

Cassian roared as she reached _into_ his chest with her other hand, and Nesta doubled over, a searing pain suddenly ripping through her chest as well.

Then, Ianthe wailed in pain as she pulled her hand from within Cassian’s chest, a star shaped imprint from his badge burned into her palm. “ _What-”_

Nesta screamed in rage, throwing herself against the witch. They tumbled to the ground, twisting, grappling for the upper hand.

Nesta ignored the shouts of her sisters and her aunts. Ianthe was a feral animal, snarling, scratching, grasping at Nesta’s hair, her face. Nesta balled her fists, reached into her center for her fyre, but her chest still ached, and the pause cost her.

Ianthe ripped a silver sigil pendant from her neck, placing the carved metal against Nesta’s bare throat, and Nesta screamed when the metal began to burn. Unhallowed, unholy iron, probably thrice cursed. 

“As the moon controls the tide, you are ocean, you are water, you are mine to bide,” Ianthe muttered, grinding her forearm into Nesta’s throat, and she choked, Ianthe’s full weight pinning her to the ground. “I am the moon and stars, I am the goddess three, I command that your body, your will, belong to me.” Nesta felt something drip onto her forehead, and tilted her eyes up to see a gash on Ianthe’s cheek, blood dripping onto her face. “I bind with blood, I bind with power, Nesta Archeron is mine upon this hour.”

Nesta faintly heard screams, shrieks, from her sisters, from Rhys and Azriel, Cassian’s roar. The clanging of metal. Chanting from the aunts.

Her vision was fading, eyelids fluttering, and she watched Ianthe’s face blur with the moon above until there was nothing.

***

Elain and Feyre bolted towards Nesta, twitching on the ground. Ianthe was gone, nothing left behind but her silver circlet, lying in the grass beside their sister.

“Where the hell did she go?” Elain asked.

“No idea,” Feyre said, kneeling beside Nesta’s prone figure.

Behind them, Mor and Amren waged war against the shadow-solider still, and Lucien and Azriel were still battling.

“I have her,” Cassian said to them. He nodded to Rhys, slowly sitting up, to the aunts falling back against the shadow-beast. “They need your help.”

Feyre and Elain stared down at their sister, trembling, eyelids flickering, as if she were waging a war of her own.

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Cassian promised them.

The sisters nodded, Elain sliding her hand into Feyre’s, and squeezing. “We have to help the aunts first.”

“Girls!” Amren snarled. “Bring me the Book of Shadows!”

“Feyre, I think he’s dead!” Rhys called, staring at Tamlin’s charred body.

“Right, okay,” Feyre said, pushing away while Elain gathered the heavy tome in her hands, lugging it towards the aunts. “Bigger problems first. Then Nesta.”

Feyre reached Rhys and they looked down at Tamlin.

“Is he _dead_? For real?” Rhys asked.

“He’s pretty crispy,” Feyre said. She took Rhys’s dagger and knelt. “There’s one way to be sure.”

She didn’t flinch when she drew the blade against Tamlin’s throat. And she wasn’t surprised when he didn’t bleed. Ianthe had drained him dry when she reanimated him. But to be sure, Feyre grit her teeth and pushed, carving into his neck until she hit bone, ignoring Rhys’s gags. The bone crumbled beneath her knife, and when the head was severed, the body began to fade to ash.

“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes,” Feyre muttered. “From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.”

Tamlin’s body crumbled into the ground, until all that was left was a swatch of dead grass, burnt by Nesta’s fyre.

Amren was rifling through the Book of Shadows as Elain and Mor circled the shadow-soldier, Elain clumsily dodging swings of his sword while Mor met them with ease.

“Remind me why we didn’t include fencing lessons in your upbringing,” Amren said.

“Mom thought it was unladylike,” Elain said, ducking again.

The shadow-beast grunted, as if in disdain.

“My thoughts exactly,” Mor snarled, aiming a thrust at the beast’s chest. Her sword glanced off his armor. “Damn it to hell, that witch knows her spells.”

“Got it!” Amren cried. “Elain, Mor, come here.”

“Toe tap, set a trap,” Mor and Elain said in unison, hands clutched for extra power. The shadow-soldier froze, and growled, legs paralyzed.

“That won’t hold long,” Mor said. “What’s the spell?”

“A Spell to Protect Against Dark Artificing,”Amren said. “Nesta started it. We might as well finish it.”

They gathered hands, and started the spell Nesta had begun, the basin of blood, salt, bones and rosemary already mixed.

“I call to the east, to the west, to the north and south,” Mor began. The leaves, once again, began to rustle in the wind. “I call upon the earth and the wind and the sea and the flame. I call upon Archeron witches past.”

“I name you, shadow beast, creation of Ianthe, High Priestess of Hecate,” Amren continued. “And upon this naming I command you and your being.”

“From death and life and death again, from dust and bone and ash again, against this dark artifice we defend,” Elain said.

“We end this fight, upon this night, send this shadow from our sight.” The aunts chanted in unison with Elain, and the shadow-soldier groaned, a long, high-pitched keen, like a wounded animal. “With this rite, remove this blight and end the darkness with our light.”

The shade glowed, keening again, until the light was too strong, with a twitch of Amren’s chin, a snap of Mor’s fingers, the shade exploded into dust, soil flying.

Lucien cried out again, collapsing to the ground, Ianthe’s spell finally broken.

Azriel stood over him, hands on his hips, barely panting. “That’s it? Is that all you have in you?”

Lucien groaned, and Elain spared Azriel a smile before dashing back to Nesta, Feyre and the aunts behind her.

Rhys and Cassian sat beside her, her head cradled in Cassian’s lap. Rhys was poking through the overturned basket’s contents.

“I have… no idea what would help,” Rhys said.

Mor and Amren pushed him aside.

“Then don’t touch _anything_ ,” Amren snapped. She stroked Nesta’s hair back. “What happened?”

“It was so fast,” Cassian said. “Ianthe was there, she was on top of Nesta, and then she was gone. She just disappeared.”

Azriel was scanning the perimeter. “You said she couldn’t leave the yard, because of the protection circle.”

“She’s around,” Elain said. “I can Sense it.”

“This is my fault,” Feyre said. “Tamlin got the best of me, and I distracted her.”

“ _No_ ,” Elain said. “Feyre, that was all Ianthe. She distracted _you_ , she would’ve killed you too.”

“She wanted Nesta,” Mor said. “Her power. _All_ of your power.”

Amren sifted through the supplies, grumbling at Rhys for touching it, at Cassian for overturning the basket. “I have blessing seeds, some quartz, and what we used for the other spells.”

“We need to get her back to the house,” Mor said. “We need more supplies.”

“I’ll winnow her,” Feyre said. “Meet us inside.”

She leant down, gathering her sister close to her body, noting how Cassian’s hands lingered on Nesta’s back, adjusting her against Feyre’s shoulder.

Feyre felt the familiar darkness come, the familiar smell of the kitchen wash over her, and then they were there. She barely managed to haul Nesta onto the long kitchen table, grunting against her sister’s limp weight. Feyre arranged Nesta’s prone form against the wood, and heard the back door open, everyone piling into the kitchen behind her.

“Is she-” Cassian began.

Nesta’s eyes flew open. Instead of the familiar blue gray irises, they were completely black, as if her pupils had overtaken them altogether.

Elain inhaled sharply as Nesta gripped Feyre’s forearm, fingers digging into the flesh.

“Nesta, Nesta stop, you’re safe, it’s okay-”

“I’m not the one whose worried,” Nesta’s voice was strange, creaky. Her eyes were two voids, empty. “But you, Feyre my dear, should be.”

When she smiled, it was cruel. And her laugh, so unlike Nesta’s…

“Ianthe,” Feyre said. “We thought you were-”

“Dead? Gone?” Nesta’s head tilted in a manner so unlike her. “Wrong. I’m very much here. However,” she lifted her dead eyes and stared at an angry, tense Cassian, “your precious, beloved Nesta wasn’t so lucky.”

Her cackle rang in Cassian’s ears, as everything faded, except the beating of his heart, _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…_

_Gone._

  
  



	17. What's Left of My Heart's Still Made of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update! I was feeling inspired. Looks like we're back to the Practical Magic plot track, and I included another little line as a nod to the movie... anyone recognize it??
> 
> We're almost to the end of this story. Thanks for the love, everyone. Hang in there a little longer.
> 
> This chapter inspired by:  
> -Bones, Penny and Sparrow  
> -Rainbow, Kesha  
> -If I Ever Had a Heart, Fever Ray  
> -The Devil Within, Digital Daggers  
> -Burn the Witch, Shawn James  
> -Heart of Stone, SIX the musical

_When my skin is done  
Or my sickness fills the air  
In my silent final prayer  
My heart is yours_

_-Bones, Penny and Sparrow_

_Playful eyes, wide and wild, I can't  
Lose hope, what's left of my heart's still made of gold_

_-Rainbow, Kesha_

_As I breathe deep and prepare for my passing  
I hear them chant, burn the witch_

_-Burn the Witch, Shawn James_

Feyre and Elain watched, arms crossed, as Mor and Amren finished tying Nesta’s body to a wooden kitchen chair. Nesta’s spirit, however...

Ianthe glared, eyes still an eerie black, jerking against the bindings. “What trickery is this?”

“Maria Archeron’s hanging rope,” Mor said, tying off the final knot with a sharp jerk. “Binds your magic too.”

“You’ll regret this,” she spat, struggling. “If you let me go, I’ll kill you quickly.”

“As opposed to?” Amren asked.

Ianthe turned her head slowly, and Feyre suppressed a shiver at seeing Nesta face, twisted into an unfamiliar look of hatred. “As opposed to ripping out your teeth one by one. As opposed to severing every single finger from your hands. Ripping out your heart and-”

“We get it,” Mor said, smacking the back of her head.

Ianthe/Nesta jerked, and whipped her head to glare at Mor. “You’re first.”

“No,” Feyre said, kneeling in front of her sister. Or what was left of her sister. “Here is how this is going to go. You’re going to tell us what you did to Nesta, and where she is.”

“I told you,” Ianthe hissed. “I’m in charge of this,” she glanced down, “less-than ideal form. Her nail beds, her eyebrows,” Ianthe rolled her eyes. “Well. That can be addressed later.” She tossed her hair. “Where the hell is Lucien?”

“Tied up again in the yard,” Azriel said with only a little bit of satisfaction in his voice. “Where he can’t help you.”

“Get the hell out of my sister, you hag,” Elain growled. “We won’t ask you again.”

“Or what?” Ianthe tipped her head to the side. “You’ll kill me? Kill _Nesta_ ?” Ianthe smiled. “Mm, I can feel her still. She’s angry. Yes,” Ianthe closed her eyes, inhaled. “Her rage is so potent, so powerful. I picked the right sister to possess.” She turned her eyes again towards Cassian. “Oh, she especially doesn’t like it when I look at _you,_ handsome.” Ianthe winked, and winced. Her chest ached, strangely. It seems Nesta Archeron had her weaknesses after all.

“Nesta’s still… in there?” Cassian asked.

“And we’re going to get her back,” Mor said, flipping through the Book of Shadows. “With a good, old-fashioned exorcism.”

“We haven’t done one of those in _years_ ,” Amren said, already gathering ingredients from the kitchen cupboards. “I think the last one was for Father Connelly, in ‘95?” She smiled to herself. “He vomited blood. Best date I’ve had in ages.”

“What the fuck?” Azriel whispered to Rhys.

Amren pinned him with her gaze. “Are you volunteering for a reenactment?”

Azriel shook his head, eyes wide.

“Then sit down and get out of the way,” Amren waved a hand at the Knight brothers. “This is no place for mortals.”

“No,” Cassian said. “I’m not going to stand and watch while this,” he gestured at Ianthe, watching him with sultry eyes, “ _thing_ holds Nesta hostage.”

“Ooh, you’re fiery,” Ianthe said, and cackled. “Mm, she likes that too.”

“Can we gag her, or something?” Feyre asked.

“Good idea,” Elain said, pointing at Ianthe. “Tongue wags, silence gags.”

Ianthe glared, opening and closing her mouth without any sound. _Fuck you_ , she mouthed, face thunderous.

“That’s one problem solved,” Feyre said. “Now…”

“Now, we solve the other problem,” Mor said. “We need broomsticks, as many as you can find. You,” she snapped her fingers at the Knight brothers. “You might as well make yourself useful. Find candles, any kind, it doesn’t matter, and set them up in here. Light them. And ward the windows and doorways, with the salt and rosemary like before. I want this house locked down.”

The brothers nodded. Azriel and Rhys hesitantly made their way through the peculiar, eerie Archeron house, while Cassian paused beside Feyre and Elain.

“Is Nesta _really_ still in there? Ianthe’s not lying?”

He felt as if half his heart was missing. Her name, like a drumbeat, echoed in his mind, his chest. _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta_. A song he never wanted to stop singing.

“She has to be,” Feyre said. “Nesta’s the strongest witch I know.”

“She’s there,” Elain said. “I can Sense her.” When Cassian still looked unsure, tilted her head. “Cassian. She’s there.”

“And we’re going to get her out,” Feyre said. “Whatever it takes.”

***

Nesta felt hazy, like she was trapped somewhere between waking time and dreamtime, trying to catch fragments of sounds and smells that kept fading away.

Her body felt strange, heavy. She couldn’t lift it. But still it moved, and she felt limp, as if she were caught in the ocean, at the mercy of the waves.

 _Give in,_ a voice whispered. _I can feel your weariness. Your spirit sinks. Feel your power ebbing…_

Nesta tried to open her eyes, turn her head. _Who_ …

_Listen to my voice… let it guide you down… into the darkness… your power washes away…_

Nesta’s heart ached, which she found strange. She couldn’t feel anything else, except that deep ache, that heaviness. Pulling outwards, as if someone was calling to her. _What…_

If she concentrated, she could feel it, beating in time, hearing words whispered along the tether.

 _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta,_ a new voice called to her.

She liked this one better. This one sounded like home. This voice was calling her back, back from wherever she was.

 _NO!_ The first voice shouted. _Damn it, the darkness, Nesta, get down, sink, you are sinking…_

Still her heart beat. _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta… come back to me, sweetheart…_

Why was that familiar? Why did that name stir something in her, lighting a fire in her belly, the ache in her chest turning almost sweet?

_Nesta, sweetheart… Nesta…_

She clung to the voice, suddenly afraid of the darkness surrounding her, threatening to pull her under.

 _You will succumb,_ the first voice whispered, angry. _Let go. This body is mine, this power is mine._

Her body, she couldn’t feel. But her heart… her heart already belonged to somebody.

_Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…_

And he was pulling her home.

***

Cassian chewed his lower lip, adjusting candles in a circle around Ianthe. It was unsettling to watch her twist Nesta’s face into something unfamiliar. She watched him with hungry eyes, almost feral. He suppressed a shiver and placed the final candle, standing up and dusting off his hands. 

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and he was grateful she couldn’t talk. Every word, in Nesta’s voice, was a knife in his chest. He rubbed absently at the spot right above his heart. His heart felt unusually heavy, achy. Almost as if someone was tugging on it.

 _I love you_ , he’d whispered too quietly to her in the clearing, afraid of what she’d say back. Now, watching Ianthe glance around the room like a snake waiting to lash out, he wondered if he’d missed his chance.

 _Don’t think like that_ , he thought to himself. _We’re going to get her back._

Ianthe waggled her eyebrows at him and cackled noiselessly, amusing herself by toying with him.

“She’s stronger than you,” he said quietly. “She’ll come back to me.”

Ianthe tilted her head and raised an eyebrow as if to say, _want to bet?_

Cassian thought back to the past few weeks, to the way Nesta would look at him if he said something stupid, something funny, something clever. How she looked at him when she felt vulnerable. Her small smiles he fought so hard to earn. The irritated eye-rolls he never had to try hard for. The taste of her skin and what she felt like pressed against him in the dark, the way she’d tuck her head into the dip of his shoulder.

Nesta, fiery and powerful, eyes sparkling, hands blazing, shoulders back, in control. Fearsome and beautiful. Nesta, quiet and sad, watching the stars. How fiercely she loved and protected her sisters.

Nesta was many things. Weak was not one of them. Powerless was not one of them. Docile was not one of them. Nesta was a fighter. She had a warrior’s heart, like his.

He’d noticed something peculiar, since waking up that next morning alone. His heart had begun to beat differently, as if it were trying to sync up with something else.

 _I love you_ , he thought. _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta._

 _And it may be strange, but,_ he watched the aunts and other Archeron sisters in the kitchen, mixing things into a cauldron, chanting, waving hands. _Stranger things still have happened. It’s almost like my heart keeps calling to yours._

 _Answer me,_ he pleaded silently, pushing through the kitchen to the back porch, to search for Andromeda, far above him. The door slammed, but he didn’t hear it, consumed by the stars.

“Nesta, answer me. Come back.” He whispered to the sky. The stars gleamed, cold and silent.

_Nesta, Nesta, Nesta..._

***

Nesta stirred again in the darkness, to the thrum of her heart, answering the call of _Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…_

It sounded so familiar. So strong and warm. An image came to her and then it was gone, quick as lightning, but she saw it. Wings, tattooed on a broad, tan back. Fiery eyes.

_Cassian._

_Cassian,_ she tried to answer, but the other voice was there, pushing her back down.

_Let go, let go, let go!_

Nesta wanted to scream, to rage and fight, but she still floated in darkness.

Her heart thudded in her chest, awkward and heavy.

A tether.

 _Cassian_.

***

Elain felt strange. Her vision had started to fade, the telltale sound of the ocean filling her ears.

“Az, the table,” she muttered, eyes already falling shut. She could feel her body slumping into Azriel as he helped her into one of the other chairs at the kitchen table.

And then, she was elsewhere.

_The beast she’d seen before was gone. Tamlin, defeated. She still saw stone breaking, eyes crying. Roses and campfires._

_But something new slid across her vision._

_Shadows, slinking, circling them. Circling Nesta._

_Hands holding hands._

_Hands holding hands._

_Hands holding hands._

Elain’s eyes flashed open and she gasped, leaning back against the wooden chair. She pressed her palms against her eyes.

Hands holding hands…

“Drink this,” Azriel set a glass of water in front of her and leaned against the table. “You okay?”

Elain nodded, gulping water. “Same vision. But this time, something about hands,” she looked to Feyre. “Hands holding hands.”

Feyre furrowed her brow. “Like in a circle? Like for a spell?”

Elain shrugged. “I’ve seen it since the beginning.”

“Hold tight,” Amren advised, stirring the cauldron. “You’ll know what to do when the time comes.”

“Do you know what it means?”

Amren shrugged. “Only you can determine that, my dear.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “It’s past the time for talking in riddles.”

“And it’s past the time you talk to me with sass,” Amren said. “Don’t think I won’t hit you with this,” she brandished the wooden spoon at Feyre, “if you keep it up, child.”

“Finished the last of the windows,” Rhys said. “What’s Cassian doing on the back porch?”

“Brooding, such like a man,” Mor muttered. “Get him back in here. It’s almost time.”

“I’m here,” Cassian said, closing the door behind him, careful to step over the line of salt and rosemary he’d spread before it. “Let’s do this.”

“What exactly are you going to _do_ to her?” Rhys asked, jerking his head at Ianthe.

“Well, to start, it’s going to get messy,” Amren said. “Did you find the broomsticks, Feyre?”

She nodded, arms full of broomsticks. “Elain, help me make the circle.”

Elain and Feyre laid the brooms around Ianthe, handle to brush overlapping.

“Now,” Amren ladled some of the potion into a cup. “We need her to drink this.”

Ianthe raised her eyebrows, mouth clamped shut.

“Priestess or no,” Mor said, stepping across the circle of broomsticks to Ianthe. “You need to breathe sometime.” She clamped Ianthe’s nose shut between the knuckles of her forefinger and middle finger. “Amren, the potion.”

Amren passed it off, and they waited.

Ianthe thrashed, but Feyre was behind her, holding her head in place. “Sorry, sis,” she muttered.

Ianthe finally opened her mouth for a desperate breath, and Mor seized her chin, pouring the goblets contents down her throat. “Easy girl,” she said as Ianthe hissed and spat. “Spit all you want, we just need a teaspoon in you.”

Ianthe began to convulse, and Mor stepped back. “Boys, stand back. Feyre, Elain, grab the broom circle, end over brush. Be careful not to break the connection.”

Mor, Amren, Feyre and Elain stood, the ring of brooms in hand, around Ianthe.

“Ianthe, High Priestess of Hecate,” they began to chant. “By the power of Maria Archeron of the Archeron line, we cast you out.”

Nesta/Ianthe cried out, head thrown back in agony.

“To the North, the South, the East, the West,” they chanted, “by the earth, the flame, the winds, and the water. We call upon the mother, the maiden, and the crone, aid us in our quest.”

Cassian watched, horrified as Nesta began to scream.

“We call upon the fyre in Nesta’s blood, the sun’s rays, the candle’s light, to burn this witch here tonight.” Nesta screamed again.

“Ianthe, High Priestess of Hecate,” they continued, Feyre and Elain looking at each other with concern, then at a thrashing Nesta, “we call upon Nesta’s fyre to burn you this night.”

Nesta tilted her head back and roared, eyelids twitching. Candles flickered. Glasses rattled. One of the pictures on the walls trembled, then fell to the ground, shattering.

“Stop it, _stop_!” Cassian started forward.

“Hold him back!” Amren snapped. “He can’t cross the circle, it’s too dangerous!”

“Nesta!” Cassian shouted, Azriel and Rhys grappling at his arms. “Damn it, _Nesta!_ It’s not _working!_ ”

“Stay back, mortal,” Amren’s eyes were hard. “Trust us.”

Nesta screamed again as they continued the spell, and Cassian felt pain sear through his chest, as if someone had taken hold of his heart and jerked on it.

_Nesta, Nesta, Nesta._

_Fight her Nesta,_ he thought.

“Nesta, damn it, _fight!_ ” He shouted, as Nesta/Ianthe doubled over, heaving, choking. He saw blood spatter against her lap, mouth dripping. “ _NESTA!”_

***

Nesta was on fire.

Everything was on fire.

Her skin burned. She wasn’t sure if she had hair but felt it catch fire all the same.

The voice screamed. _If they try to kill me, they’ll kill you too._

Nesta wailed into the darkness as her fyre burst through her from the inside out.

Her heart, beating still, a tether.

 _Nesta!_ A shout, pulling her forward. _Nesta, fight!_

Cassian.

 _Cassian!_ She tried to scream. But no sound came. _Help me._

***

“It’s not working!” Feyre cried. “Cassian’s right, we need to _stop_!”

Mor and Amren kept chanting, and with a final, brutal wail, Ianthe ripped through the ropes and toppled off the chair to the floor. Her eyes, wild and bloodshot, fixed on Feyre.

“ _You_ ,” she hissed, whether at Feyre or Nesta Feyre couldn’t tell. “Fight _this_ , you _bitch_!” She sprang forward, but when she hit the edge of the broom circle, she was thrown back, stumbling against the chair and lay, groaning on the floor.

“Nesta!” Elain and Feyre lowered their brooms, forcing Mor and Amren to follow suit to keep the circle intact.

Elain and Feyre knelt at the edge, near Nesta’s head.

“Nesta, look at us,” Elain said. “We want _Nesta_ , not Ianthe.”

“Sisters three,” Feyre whispered. “Nesta, come on.”

Nesta groaned, eyelids twitching, a hint of the blue gray flickering through. She opened her eyes and stared at her sisters blearily. “Elain? Feyre?” She shook her head. “It’s not worth it. You have to let me go.”

“Never,” Feyre said. “We didn’t go through all of this for her to win.”

Nesta inhaled, a broken sob. “Finish the spell. Let me burn with her.”

“Nesta!” Cassian jerked away from his brothers, voice ragged. He sank to his knees next to Feyre. “Sweetheart. Fight her.”

“Cassian…” Nesta murmured, eyes closed. “Stop pulling me back. Let me go.”

“I love you,” he blurted. “I love you so goddamn much, okay? Don’t go.”

Nesta shook her head, cheek pressed against the wood floor. “I have to.” She levered her eyes open again, to peer at him. “If I die, the curse dies with me. And you’re safe.”

“I don’t care, Nesta-”

But when she opened her eyes again, Nesta was gone. Ianthe, wild eyed, stared back.

“She’s a clever one,” Ianthe rasped. “But I’m going to win.” She cackled. “And you wouldn’t sacrifice your own sister, would you? Your own flesh and blood?”

Elain tilted her head. _Flesh and blood…_

Her vision came to her, hands clasping hands.

“Feyre, get me the athame on the counter,” Elain said. “Aunt Mor, do we have _any_ of Maria’s blood?”

“A small vial, for dire, dire situations,” Mor said, but Amren was already gone, into the workroom. Crashes could be heard as she tore through the room, ripping drawers and cupboards apart until she exclaimed in triumph. The shattering of glass, the snap of a lock, and then she reemerged, a small vial clutched in her hand.

“Be ready,” Elain said. “Feyre, I need you to slice both your palms, and then Nesta’s too.”

Ianthe twitched. “Come near me and I’ll- _AH!”_

Elain flung herself into the circle, straddling Ianthe and pinning her to the ground. She was weak, but still strong enough that Elain struggled. She sang to Maria’s hanging rope, once made of hemp, and the hemp regrew, twining itself around Ianthe/Nesta’s wrists and the legs of the chair, shackling her to the ground. “Feyre, now!”

Feyre jumped into the circle, palms bloody, and slashed each of Ianthe’s palms while she bucked and shrieked under Elain. Elain took a moment to slice her own, gritting her teeth against the icy sharp pain.

“Grab a hand,” Elain ordered, and she and Feyre locked hands, and then clasped each of Nesta’s.

“Amren, Maria’s blood!” Elain cried, and Amren unstoppered the vial, pouring quick drops of thick, almost black blood onto each of their connected palms.

Hands holding hands.

“Your blood,” Elain whispered.

“My blood,” Feyre responded.

“Our blood,” they chanted in unison. “Sisters three we always be. We bind this spell, and so mote it be.”

Ianthe wailed, and as Elain and Feyre felt heat sear up their palms, they too cried out.

Elain gripped tighter, like her vision had told her. _Hands holding hands. Hands holding hands. Hands holding hands._

The room began to quake. Paintings fell off the walls, and the Knight brothers jumped as the shutters blew open, the windows rattling in their frames. A wind suddenly blew through the kitchen, whipping Elain’s hair, adding its own wail to the chorus of cries.

“We name you, Nesta Archeron, of the Archeron line!” Elain shouted against Ianthe’s wails, against the wind. “We name you descendant of Maria Archeron, first of her line!”

“We name you as descendants of Maria Archeron, as the last witches of our line!” Feyre shouted. “We call upon the Archeron witches past, upon the magic in our veins, cast this spirit out and bring Nesta back!”

Their hands trembled, but they just gripped each other tighter. Elain dipped her head towards Feyre, resting her forehead against her sister’s temple, hair spilling into Nesta’s face.

“We love you, Nesta,” Elain whispered. “Above all else. Sisters three we always be.”

“Always, always,” Feyre chanted. “Until our hearts stop beating.”

Whether it was Ianthe or Nesta wailing, Elain couldn’t tell, but her sister’s scream joined the cacophony of sound rioting throughout the kitchen as a bright blue light began to glow where each of the Archeron sisters’ palms connected. It was itchy and hot, but Elain and Feyre held fast.

_We are the Archeron sisters and we will not be broken. From Maria on, we have always been stronger, together._

***

Nesta railed against the voice, against Ianthe, fighting for control. She could hear Elain and Feyre calling to her, feel her magic pricking in her palms, her belly. Her fyre stirred.

 _Stay_ down _, damn it!_ Ianthe hissed, fighting Nesta for control. _You are mine! You are nothing! You are weak!_

 _Shut up_ , Nesta thought, closing her eyes. She dug down into her stomach, she could feel it again, could feel her heart tether pulling her upwards, towards Cassian, towards her sisters. Towards life. Life, and love, and freedom. And happiness.

 _You have no power over me_ , Nesta whispered. And with her palms pricking, with her sisters’ power flowing into her, she let her fyre free.

***

Elain and Feyre watched as Ianthe gave one last angry wail before slumping back to the floor in a burst of light. Green smoke began pouring out of Nesta’s mouth and nose to hover above them, trapped against the ceiling.

“Elain? Feyre?” Nesta mumbled, eyes opening. “It’s me. She’s gone.”

Elain and Feyre shrieked, this time in relief, and threw themselves onto their sister in a pile of limbs and tears and laughter.

Then Cassian was beside Nesta, not-so-gently tugging her from her sisters’ arms and crushing her against his chest.

“I thought this was it,” Cassian muttered against her neck. “I can’t believe you’d let her _take you-_ ”

Nesta pulled back and cradled Cassian’s face in her hands, pulling his mouth to hers. He felt strong and warm and _real_. “I felt you,” she whispered against his lips. “Calling to me. It was like you were pulling me home.”

Someone cleared their throat, and Nesta looked to see Mor and Amren watching her, faces soft.

“Seems you didn’t need us to break the curse after all,” Mor said. She jerked her chin at Cassian. “Something tells me Maria’s finally moved on, now that you’ve given your heart to a worthy man.”

Nesta shook her head, disentangling herself from Cassian and rising to wind an arm around each of her sisters. “The only way to break an Archeron curse is by creating an Archeron blessing.”

“We are the Archeron sisters, and we will not be broken,” Elain and Feyre echoed, linking hands behind Nesta’s back.

“So mote it be,” Amren and Mor replied, and they sealed the ancestral blessing by gathering the sisters close in an embrace.

“I, uh,” Rhys paused. “Sorry to interrupt, but-” he pointed to the green smoke, rapidly turning to dust, raining down on the kitchen. “She’s still here?”

“Sweep her out!” Feyre cried, thrusting a broom into Rhys’s hand. “You too,” she said to Az and Cassian. “Pick up a broom and get to work!”

They swept the dust towards the back door and outside, following Feyre’s directions to the charred outline of Tamlin’s body. The aunts followed behind them with the cauldron, and when they tipped the rest of the contents onto the pile of dust and ash and burnt grass, it sank into the ground in a puff of smoke, leaving behind fresh, green grass.

Ianthe was gone. Tamlin defeated.

Nesta felt free, freer than she had in a long time. With Cassian’s arm around her waist and her sisters grinning at her, she felt something she hadn’t in a long time.

Happy.

“Where’ Lucien?” Elain asked, looking around the yard.

“Ah, there,” Azriel gestured to a limp pile of limbs, where he’d tied Lucien up again and left him.

“Bring him inside,” Mor said, heading for the house. She tilted her head to look at the moon, and then back to her nieces. “I think it’s time for some midnight margaritas, don’t you?”

The Knight brothers watched, half amused, half confused as the Archeron sisters threw their arms into the air and shrieked, “ _Midnight Margaritas!”_

Cassian squeezed his arm around Nesta’s waist. “What’s a midnight margarita?”

Nesta grinned at him, and it was beautiful, free. “Only the best kind of margarita. We used to do this when we were teens.”

“ _Teens_?”

Nesta winked and laughed again, reaching up to curl her arms around his neck.

“Cassian,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I love you too. I love you more than the moon, I love you-” Cassian silenced her with a hard kiss.

Her heart thumped, painfully. Nesta winced, pressing a hand to her chest, and Cassian’s arms tightened around her. “Ness, what’s wrong?”

She heard him gasp as her chest grew warm. A faint red glow emanated from beneath her fingertips, soft and sweet, like a lover’s whisper in the night.

“My heart,” Nesta said, pressing her hand further against her chest. It only glowed brighter. “Is yours. It’s stone, it’s heavy and sharp. But,” Nesta felt the crack in her chest, as if she were being rent in two, and cried out.

Cassian watched, as the red glow became brighter, pressing his hand against hers on her chest, and the glow disappeared in a flash of red light. They stood in the dark, with only the moonlight to illuminate their faces.

As Nesta pulled her clenched fist from her chest, Cassian realized she was holding something. It glowed softly, dimly, warmly. He heard a gentle whisper, _I’m yours, my love_ , and looked to Nesta. 

“My heart,” she said, and opened her fists. “It’s all yours, if you want it.”

In her palms sat a small, dark lump that looked to Cassian like stone, except it seemed like a type of stone yet undiscovered to man. The size of a small apple, the lump glowed a warm orange, like a coal that had been stoked back to life. A fissure ran the length of it. Inside the fissure, a deep, fiery red glow could be seen. It glowed brighter and then softer in rhythm, a heartbeat.

“Is this your real heart?” Cassian whispered.

“When my mother died when I was young,” Nesta paused to inhale deeply, savoring how light her chest felt. “I began turning my heart to stone, so I’d never die of a broken heart like her. And when I cast that true love spell, it turned more of my heart to stone.”

Cassian stared at her, wide-eyed. “I thought…”

“That I was being dramatic?” Nesta shook her head. “It was real. And,” she paused, taking another gloriously unburdened breath. “I want to give it to you. That is, if you even want it.”

Cassian cupped his hands around Nesta’s, and she slid hers away, so her heart fell gently into his palms. He marveled at how warm, how strong it felt in his hands. “Always,” he whispered, and kissed her again.

Nesta melted into it, and finally felt like she’d come home.


	18. Three Roads, One Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my lovelies. This is it. The end. I'd like to thank each and every one of you for reading, giving kudos, and commenting. It's what kept me going, and I never thought I'd be able to finish a project like this, let alone without your support. I'm going to miss the Archeron witches!! 
> 
> This chapter brought to you by:  
> -Practical Magic, Alan Silvestri  
> -Witchy Woman, The Eagles  
> -Bones, Penny and Sparrow  
> -Duet, Penny and Sparrow (feat. Stephanie Briggs)  
> -Rainbow, Kesha  
> -Scarborough Fair, Simon and Garfunkel  
> -Happiness is a Butterfly, Lana del Rey  
> -Hallelujah, HAIM

_I've seen [you] carry family_   
_And the steel drum weight of me_   
_Effortless..._   
_Because I've seen you_   
_And I know you_   
_And I'm not going anywhere_

_-Duet, Penny and Sparrow (feat. Stephanie Briggs)_

_I met two angels but they were in disguise  
Took one look to realize  
Tell 'em anything and they will sympathize  
_ _These arms hold me tight...  
Three roads, one light  
Now and then I can lean my back to yours...  
_ _You were there to protect me like a shield  
Long hair running with me through the field  
Everywhere you've been with me all along...  
_ _Why me, how'd I get this hallelujah?  
_

_-Hallelujah, HAIM_

_Woo hoo, witchy woman  
See how high she flies  
Woo hoo, witchy woman  
She got the moon in her eye_

_-Witchy Woman, T_ h _e Eagles_

In the weeks after Samhain, the Archeron sisters put down their roots, for good. The house on the hill was finally occupied once again, filled with light and laughter, spells and charms, midnight margaritas and chocolate cake for breakfast. Flowers that bloomed even in the winter, candles that lit themselves, and paintings that came to life. Two old biddy aunts who terrorized and charmed the townsfolk alike. And, three Archeron witches who were blissfully in love, with no curses to haunt them. 

Nesta still felt that drop in her stomach whenever she looked at Cassian, as if bracing herself for tragedy. And then he’d press a kiss to her temple, squeeze her hand, even shoot her one of his cocky grins that made her roll her eyes, to remind her, _I am here, and I am never leaving you_.

Sometimes, as if he could sense her anxiety, he’d press his palm to her chest if they were alone, or against his own if they weren’t, as if to say _you are safe with me. Always._

She was still learning what it meant to live without a stone heart weighing her down. Her chest wasn’t hollow; instead, it felt less crowded, less stagnant. There was suddenly room, an emptiness in her chest that she didn’t know how to fill.

 _Fill it,_ Mor had said to her. _Fill it with things, and people, that you love._ Mor had winked at her. _I think a certain sheriff would be a wonderful place to start._

And there was room, she’d found. Room for Cassian, next to her sisters and her aunts, the memory of their mother. The smell of the grimoire with its well-worn pages, the crackle of her magic in her veins. Fleetwood Mac albums and velvet dresses and autumn leaves.

And the stars. Andromeda, glittering above her, always.

But unlike Andromeda, Nesta broke her own chains. And she gave her heart away of her own free will.

Cassian kept it in a box made of willow he’d carved by hand. Willow, Nesta had told him, was for love. And every night, if they were apart, she could feel when he opened the box to cradle her heart in his hands. If they were together, he’d press a kiss to her breastbone before going to sleep.

Nesta had never been happier, and never believed she _could_ be this happy. Never believed she deserved it.

But when she looked across the table one night at Velaris, at her sisters and the Knight brothers laughing together, she let herself feel it.

_This is what is meant for you._

Feyre was glaring at Cassian. “If you’re going to be an asshat, you’re not getting any discounts at Witchy Women.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You’re not the boss.” He wrapped an arm around Nesta’s shoulders and pulled her close. “She is, and she loves me.”

“Nesta,” Feyre whined. “Cassian’s not allowed at the apothecary until he tells me the story of that one time Rhys got drunk and-”

“And he’s right, I’m in charge and you can’t ban him.” Nesta leaned her head on Cassian’s shoulder, grinning at her sister.

“Traitor,” Feyre muttered. “Why are you taking _his_ side?”

“Because I felt like it today,” Nesta shrugged. “I might change my mind tomorrow.”

Cassian squeezed her against him. “No, you won’t.”

“Maybe I will.”

“You won’t.”

“How would you know?” Nesta snapped.

“Because sweetheart,” Cassian leaned in close, their noses brushing. “Now I know what it takes to win against you in a fight.”

Nesta raised her eyebrows, and asked in a low voice, “and what would that be?”

“I’ll show you at home,” Cassian leaned in, and Nesta closed her eyes, expecting a kiss, but he just snagged a french fry off her plate and leaned back. Nesta’s eyes flew open and she shot him a glare that said they’d be having a different kind of discussion when they got home.

“You’re still allowed,” Elain said to Azriel. “Especially since you helped stock the shelves.”

Witchy Women was an apothecary the sisters had started in town. Despite the many townspeople who still crossed the street or crossed _themselves_ when seeing any Archeron woman in public, they secretly flocked to the apothecary in droves. Love potions, beauty elixirs, lucky charms and tonics, in addition to teas, creams, plants and other assorted things were in high demand among the people of Salem. And they all knew that whatever it was about the Archeron women, their wares _worked_. Sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse.

Seeing the Archeron sisters with the Knight brothers helped somewhat; the brothers, each obviously in love with their respective Archeron witch, hadn’t dropped dead yet. Although some townspeople had a secret pool going over which one would be the first to die, the bets were slowly losing interest as the weeks passed. They’d run into Feyre, perched at the end of the bar in Velaris while Rhys was at work, or Elain and Azriel walking hand in hand in the park, or Cassian and Nesta bickering over cups of coffee at Prythian. All very much alive and well.

And seeing them all together for dinner at Velaris made them seem almost… normal.

Feyre was in the middle of trying to convince Azriel to tell her the story when a familiar figure entered the restaurant, approaching their table with hesitant steps.

Nesta, turning her head from a frustrated Feyre and a laughing Rhys, was unpleasantly surprised to find Investigator Lucien Vanserra standing at her elbow.

“And what the hell do _you_ want?” She asked coldly.

Since they’d let him loose from his bonds on Samhain, they hadn’t seen much of Lucien. He’d hung around the station, head in his hands, flipping through papers, and staring into space.

“I’m here to say goodbye,” Lucien said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “And to tell you the investigation is closed. Tamlin Rose’s cause of death is inconclusive, due to the disappearance of and tampering with the body. And the suspect, one Ianthe Hecate, is missing.” He sighed. “Due to the lack of evidence at the scene of the crime and the inconclusive cause of death, Feyre Archeron is no longer an active suspect.”

The relief Nesta felt was palpable. Feyre exhaled sharply, and Elain sighed in relief.

“Thank you,” Feyre said to Lucien. “But what about the autopsy?”

“Ianthe drew it up,” Lucien confessed. “The LAPD were unable to conduct one.”

“So... we’re free,” Feyre said.

“Free and clear,” Lucien said. “I,” he looked at his feet, then back to her. “I want to personally apologize. For everything. Ianthe, helping her, scaring you, upsetting Elain,” Azriel shot him a glare, arms crossed, and Elain nodded, face neutral. “Even,” Lucien stopped again. “For not helping you in LA, even when I knew something was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are,” Rhys said bluntly.

Lucien nodded, shifting on his feet. “Well. That’s it.” He turned to go.

“Where are you going?” Elain called.

“Away,” Lucien shrugged. “Back to LA, there’s stuff I have to wrap up with the LAPD. Tamlin’s estate. I _was_ his friend, so,” he trailed off. “His only friend, really. I’m the only one he had left.”

Feyre raised her eyebrows and looked away, leaning into Rhys, who tucked her into his side.

“Goodbye,” Nesta said. “Thanks for the shitshow.”

Lucien sighed, and bowed his head.

“Nesta,” Elain muttered. She reached for Lucien’s arm. “Thanks for clearing our names.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Lucien said. He nodded to everyone at the table. “Sorry to interrupt your meal. I’ll leave you to it-”

Elain’s eyes glowed a soft white, and she gripped his sleeve, mouth moving, but no words came out.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, trying to ease her fingers away from Lucien, but she clenched her hand, and slumped back against him, eyes falling shut. “Elain, love, what is it?”

Elain sat up suddenly, her doe brown eyes pinned on Lucien. She smiled. “Her name is Vassa.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

“Who?” Lucien asked.

Elain shook her head, still smiling, and let Lucien go. “I’m not giving it all away. But her name,” she looked at him, “is Vassa. I saw,” she tilted her head, “a firebird, dancing through the night. Over land, over sea.” She smiled at a puzzled Lucien. “Safe travels, Lucien. You’ve got interesting things ahead of you.”

He shot her another puzzled gaze, then shook his head and sighed. “I suppose I deserve that. Thank you,” he bowed to Elain, and turned to her sisters. “And you. If you need anything, if it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”

Cassian reached out and shook Lucien’s hand. “You know,” he said, winking at Azriel. “We could always use another set of eyes-” he cringed when Nesta dug her elbow into his side, “- _eye_ around the station. If you ever feel like a change of scenery,” Cassian shrugged. “We might be able to figure something out.”

“We _might_?” Azriel asked in disbelief, and it was his turn to wince as Elain nudged him.

Lucien laughed, and smiled at Azriel and Elain. “I wish you all the best.”

And with that, the investigator was gone, taking the last of the nightmare with him.

“What the hell, Cass,” Azriel said. “Seriously? _Hire_ _him_?”

Elain snorted, reaching to cup his jaw. “Jealous?”

“No,” Azriel said a little too fast. “I still don’t trust him, that’s all.”

Elain rolled her eyes and turned Azriel’s face towards her, pressing a kiss against his mouth. “The medieval ages called, they want their gender politics back.” She pulled back. “Besides. I’m not into redheads. But,” Elain grinned. “Vassa is.”

“ _Who_ is that?” Rhys asked.

Elain shrugged. “I saw him with a lover, a woman, he called her Vassa. She seems like she can handle him. Very queenlike, very L.A. I think she’s an actress, or something.”

Azriel sighed. As long as Lucien stayed busy on the other side of the country…

Elain rolled her eyes at him, as if she could read his thoughts, but pressed a kiss to the back of his scarred hand and resumed eating dinner as if nothing had happened.

And then Azriel decided he didn’t care much about Lucien at all.

After dinner, as Elain and Azriel walked through the moonlit park hand in hand, she realized she’d been wrong about what it was like to be _in_ love.

Elain hadn’t thought much about the Archeron curse. When Graysen ultimately survived their failed engagement, she figured it was just luck. But as she got older, she realized what had saved him wasn’t fate, but an absence of love altogether.

She thought that was what love was; ambivalence, companionship. Coexisting. Being beautiful while he admired her, and then turned around and watched other women walk down the street. He reminded her of her father. 

And when the moonlight shone on Azriel’s face, highlighting the edges and planes, she realized, now, she knew.

Azriel still felt shy about letting Elain touch his scars, but when she took his hand without hesitating, he had exhaled softly.

“Okay?” She asked.

“Fine,” he said. “Just a bit late to be out.”

“Afraid of the dark?” Elain teased. “Don’t worry, the scariest thing in the woods is me.”

Azriel grinned, tugging her to his side and draping his coat around her when she shivered against the mid-November chill. “I think I’m safe.”

“And why’s that?” Elain said. “You never know, I might decide I’m more like aunt Amren than you thought.”

Azriel suppressed a shudder. “Okay, _she’s_ the scariest thing in the woods.”

Elain laughed, tugging Azriel to a stop beside a bare plot of dirt beside the worn path.

“Watch,” she whispered, and hummed softly. A single flower bloomed steadily, twining upwards and around Azriel’s wrist.

“What-” he sniffed. “Is this-”

“Jasmine,” Elain’s blush was obvious, even in the moonlight. “Are you familiar with the language of flowers?”

Azriel picked a blossom and tucked it behind her ear. “Tell me.”

“Jasmine is given to express unconditional and eternal love,” Elain whispered. Suddenly, she felt nervous, unable to meet his eyes. “I. Um. I know you haven’t known me very long, but…”

Azriel waited for her to finish.

“But you’ve been so kind to me,” she rushed out. “Unafraid, and solid. Azriel, I,” Elain inhaled to steady herself, to speak the words she’d been thinking but hadn’t trusted nor dared to say aloud. “I love you. And you don’t have to say it back, I know it’s fast and probably _really_ weird, and I know me and my sisters aren’t normal, but-”

Azriel cut her off with a kiss, drawing her close and bending his face to hers. Elain melted into him, clutching his shoulders.

“Elain,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’m not afraid.”

“Even if my sister can shoot fireballs?”

“As long as they’re not at me.” He leaned back to look at her, eyes illuminated in the moonlight. “I’m not going to end up in a dumpster somewhere, am I?”

Elain smiled, shaking her head. “Not anymore.”

She wasn’t prepared for Azriel to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. Tender, caring, so unlike Graysen, unlike any of the other men who dared approach an Archeron woman.

Azriel’s heart was soaring. This woman, this _witch_ , in his arms was unlike anyone else. Her kindness, her beauty… her power. “Elain,” he said again, voice thick, and cleared it. “It’s… you’re not… you’re _everything_ ,” he rushed out.

She stared up at him, eyes warm. 

“Love you too,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.”

Home, for Elain, was the new apartment above Witchy Women. 

But she secretly thought it only felt like home when Azriel was there beside her.

*** 

Feyre and Rhys retired to Rhys’s apartment above Velaris, which he had decided to renovate after the house fire.

 _“In case anyone tries to kill us or fuck with Velaris ever again,”_ he’d said, only half-jokingly.

She sat at her easel in the little painting nook Rhys had made, just for her. Staring out the window, Feyre was trying to capture the play of the moonlight through the clouds, and the sea of stars beyond.

Rhys draped himself over her shoulder, kissing her neck. “Looks great.”

She giggled, shrugging him off. “It’s not done yet.”

“Don’t care,” Rhys propped his chin on her shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

“You sure you’re okay with me being here?” Feyre asked. “I know my stuff’s everywhere. I can head back-”

“No,” Rhys said, and sighed. “I wanted to ask you, that is, _only_ if you wanted, to stay.”

“Like, the night?” Feyre twisted her head to look at him, an eyebrow raised, a smirk playing over her mouth. “Feel like christening the apartment, _again_?”

“No,” Rhys pressed a kiss to her nose. “I meant like… forever. Move in. _Only_ if you wanted to. It’s your choice. And you could move back, if you chose.”

Feyre put down her paintbrush and swiveled on her stool so Rhys was standing between her legs. She braced her hands on his shoulders. “ _Move in_ move in.”

“Only if you choose to,” he said. “You choose, always.”

She cupped his face in her palms, and drew him in for a kiss. “Thank you,” she said. “And I choose _you_ , always.”

Rhys tugged her off the stool and to bed.

“I love you,” he whispered in her ear as he curled around Feyre, moving over her. 

She opened her mouth to say it back, and hesitated. She thought the words would dry up in her throat, like they had once upon a time with Tamlin. But with Rhys, stroking her hair, kissing her face, they came like the easiest of cantrips.

“I love you,” she panted, wrapping herself further around him, into him. “I love you.” Like a spell, she murmured it over and over again, as if trying to capture the magic of it, to speak it aloud as a binding charm. So she’d never forget what real love felt like, ever again.

And later, when Feyre was back at her easel wearing nothing but Rhys’s t-shirt, painting the sky, he watched as a glittering star tipped out of the painting, illuminating the room in bright light before soaring out the window, towards the open sky.

***

“Go for a ride?” Cassian asked Nesta as he drove them back to the house on the hill.

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, if you didn’t address me like a golden retriever.”

Cassian sighed. “Beautiful, fearsome Nesta, would you like to go for a motorcycle ride when we get home?”

“No.”

“ _No_?” Cassian whipped his head to look at her. “You love my Harley.”

“Maybe I had a different ride in mind.”

When Cassian’s expression changed, turning hungry, she reached across to smack his arm. “Not _that_ kind of ride, you pervert.”

Cassian chuckled. “Alright, sweetheart, I’ll bite. What kind of ride?”

Nesta grinned, and Goddess, he loved her, but Cassian felt a tinge of fear whenever she looked at him like that. “A broomstick ride.”

Then they were home, and before Cassian could say anything, Nesta was out of the car, heading for the back porch where she kept her broom.

“Next time we’ll take the bike,” she said when he joined her, zipping her coat tightly. “Ready?”

She held out the broom, and it hovered in midair. Cassian still wasn’t quite used to that.

She straddled it easily, beckoning to the space behind her.

“I can’t believe this can hold us,” Cassian said, gingerly straddling the broomstick, wrapping his arms tightly around Nesta’s waist. _This might not be_ so _bad_ , he thought.

“Magic,” Nesta said. “But you’re right, I do really love the Harley too.”

And then they were airborne, soaring up towards the crystal clear night, with the moon and stars glinting.

Cassian held in a yelp, squeezing Nesta tightly as the ground fell away. But she was right, this _was_ better than the Harley, not that he’d admit it.

Nesta let herself grin, and then let out a whoop, Cassian joining her. They soared over the forest, Nesta dipping just low enough to snag a leaf from the highest branch and back up again. They flew further until she was crossing over the beach and then the sea, dipping again to skim the waves.

“Hang on!” Nesta called before diving into a spiral, and the world became a blur. Cassian, caught off guard, roared, half in terror, half in glee.

Nesta let out a cackle, pulling out of a steep nosedive to soar up towards the moon. Cassian tucked himself close, resting his forehead against her back, like she would do when riding behind him on his bike.

“Okay?” She called over the wind.

“Let’s go home,” he called, the words ripped away in the breeze.

But Nesta heard him all the same, and they returned to the House on the Hill, where no man had entered and survived to tell the tale.

That is, until the Knight brothers fell in love with the Archeron witches.

And in that willow box, on the nightstand on Cassian’s side of their bed, beat his beloved witch’s heart, safe in his care.

***

“Ready?” Nesta and Elain stood hand in hand one frigid late-November night a few weeks later, next to the flickering fire pit. The waning moon hung in the sky, a silver coin, presiding over them, glittering over the first of the snowfall that heralded the coming of winter.

Feyre lit the bundle of rosemary and set it on the stone altar to smoke, joining hands with her sisters.

“Upon this day, upon this night, we call to those out of sight, to honor and keep, mourn and weep, as we lay their spirit down to sleep.” They chanted in unison.

“Maria Archeron, we call you,” Feyre said. “We call you forth to honor thee.”

“To give thanks for your guidance and protection, we honor thee,” Elain said.

“And in naming and breaking the Archeron curse, we honor thee,” Nesta said.

Feyre scattered a handful of marigold over the firepit, the petals catching the flame easily, dancing like tiny suns.

“In this ancestral rite, we offer light, we offer rest, the Archeron witches newly blest.” They said, together again. They broke the circle, to slice their palms (Nesta was dismayed at the amount of thin scars building up) and offer blood. The blade was cold from the frigid air, and she winced. “With our blood, with our breath, with the moon above, go with love.”

“Sisters three we always be,” said Elain.

“We bind this spell,” said Feyre.

“So mote it be,” Nesta finished, and the spell was done.

With a mighty gust of wind, the fire snuffed out, and all that was left was the scent of burning rosemary, and the faintest sigh of a weary, ancient woman finally at rest, carried away on the wind.

“I’m glad we did this,” Elain said, shivering, gathering the leftovers from the ritual. “We didn’t get to honor her during Samhain.”

“We didn’t get to honor _anyone_ at Samhain,” Feyre said, pulling her coat tighter around her. 

“Next year,” Nesta promised. “And hopefully it’ll be a much less dramatic Samhain.”

“With the aunts here?” Feyre shook her head, helping Elain carry their things back to the house. “Goddess, who knows where they’ve been. We’ll probably have to fight off somebody else.”

“Good,” Elain said. “I was getting bored.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, but privately agreed.

“So, I’ve been wondering…” Feyre said. “Do you think love can travel back in time and heal a broken heart?” She paused. “Or was it our joined hands that finally lifted Maria’s curse?”

Elain tilted her head. “I’d like to think so. I saw it in my vision.”

Nesta smiled, tilting her head to look at the moon. “Well. There’s somethings though _I_ know for certain-”

“Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder,” Feyre said, reciting the mantra their aunts had taught them as children.

“Keep rosemary by your garden gate, plant lavender for luck,” Elain continued.

“And fall in love, whenever you can,” Nesta finished, with a small, private smile.

“Girls!” Mor called out the backdoor. “Come in!”

Amren poked her head out beside her. “It’s _time for-_ ”

“ _Midnight Margartias!”_ The Archeron sisters cried and ran, hand in hand, towards the House on the Hill.

  
  



	19. PLAYLIST: Witchy Women

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the master playlist I created over the course of the two years it took me to formulate and write this thing. Some remind me of snippets of this fic; some helped with characters, scenes. Some just had a really great vibe. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

PLAYLIST: Witchy Women

“Duet” by Penny and Sparrow, feat. Stephanie Briggs

“Mystery of Love” by Sufjan Stevens

“Rainbow” by Kesha

“Hit Me Like a Man” by The Pretty Reckless

“Going to Hell” by The Pretty Reckless

“Leather and Lace” by Stevie Nicks

“Bella Donna” by Stevie Nicks

“Bad Moon Rising” by Rasputina

“Blood Teachings” by Esben and the Witch

“Drawn to the Blood” by Sufjan Stevens

“Wolf” by First Aid Kit

“Evening on the Ground” by Iron & Wine

“Love song” by Lana Del Rey

“Be” by Hozier

“Warm Ways” by Fleetwood Mac

“The Story” by Brandi Carlile

“Like Real People Do” by Hozier

“Happiness is a butterfly” by Lana Del Rey

“Moment’s Silence (Common Tongue)” by Hozier

“Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” by Hozier

“Go To Heaven” by The Pierces

“Talk” by Hozier

“Wish That You Were Here” by Florence + The Machine

“Show Yourself” by Idina Menzel, Frozen 2 soundtrack

“Andromeda” by Weyes Blood

“Jenny of Oldstones” by Florence + The Machine

“Dearly Departed” by Shakey Graves, feat. Esmé Patterson

“Cruel Summer” by Taylor Swift

“Heart of Stone” by Cher

“Heart of Stone” by Natalie Paris, SIX original soundtrack

“Bewitched” by Frank Sinatra

“Glory and Gore” by Lorde

“Sisters of the Moon” by Fleetwood Mac

“Hallelujah” by HAIM

“Miss Bottom of the Hill” by Iron & Wine

“Kind of Woman” by Stevie Nicks

“Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac

“Burn the Witch” by Shawn James

“My Eyes” by The Lumineers

“Cherry” by Lana Del Rey

“Daddy Lessons” by Beyoncé, feat. The Chicks

“Bones” by Penny and Sparrow

“Natural” by Imagine Dragons

“Which Witch” by Florence + The Machine

“Sorcerer” by Stevie Nicks

“Woman King” by Iron & Wine

“Baby You’re a Haunted House” by Gerard Way

“Seasons of the Witch” by Donovan

“You Belong to Me” by Cat Pierce

“Only Love Can Hurt Like This” by Paloma Faith

“Hoochie Coochie Girls” by Circus Contraption

“Old Time Religion” by Parker Millsap

“Witches” by Blackbird Raum

“Black Velvet” by Alannah Myles

“Black Magic Woman” by Santana

“Hex Girl” by Moon Sisters

“Running With the Wolves” by AURORA

“Ain’t No Grave” by Johnny Cash

“Third Eye” by Florence + The Machine

“June” by Florence + The Machine

“Friend of the Devil” by Mumford & Sons

“Beat The Devil’s Tattoo” by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

“Fingers To The Bone” by Brown Bird

“Witch” by the bird and the bee

“A Little Wicked” by Valerie Broussard

“Howlin’ for You” by The Black Keys

“Missile” by Dorothy

“If You Ever Did Believe” by Stevie Nicks

‘Witch’s Rune” by S.J. Tucker

“Daughter of the Woods” by Vudu Sisters

“Dead Man’s Pocket” by Vudu Sister

“Psalms” by Vudu Sister

“Devil’s Daughter” by Vaudeville Etiquette

“Rocks and Water” by Deb Talan

“Ghost” by ZZ Ward

“LA Devotee” by Panic! At The Disco

“No Roots” by Alice Merton

“Love Like Ghosts” by Lord Huron

“Bible Belt” by Dry the River

“Take Me to Church” by Hozier

“You’ll Be Mine” by The Pierces

“Black Sheep” by Gin Wigmore

“Scarborough Fair/Canticle” by Simon & Garfunkel

“I Will Never Die” by Delta Rae

“Thistle & Weeds” by Mumford & Sons

“This Kiss” by Faith Hill

“Always On My Mind” by Elvis Presley

“Black Eyed Dog” by Nick Drake

“I Put A Spell On You” by Annie Lennox

“No Light, No Light” by Florence + The Machine

“Big God” by Florence + The Machine

“Sky Full of Song” by Florence + The Machine

“Raise Hell” by Dorothy

“Raise Hell” by Brandi Carlile

“Witching Hour” by In This Moment

“Kingdom Come” by The Civil Wars

“Come Away To The Water” by Maroon 5

“Three Wishes” by The Pierces

“Sticks and Stones” by The Pierces

“Dark Lady” by Cher

“A Case of You” by Joni Mitchell

“Practical Magic” by Alan Silvestri

“If I Had A Heart” by Fever Ray

“The Devil Within” by Digital Daggers

“Wicked Ones” by Dorothy

“Kill of the Night” by Gin Wigmore

“Gypsy” by Fleetwood Mac

“Howl” by Florence + The Machine

“Bottom of the River” by Delta Rae

“Seven Devils” by Florence + The Machine

“I Put A Spell On You” by Creedence Clearwater Revival

“Witchy Woman” by the Eagles

  
  



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